POEMS- OF-AMERICANi 
PATRIOTISMt 




Qass_ 
Book_ 



THE EDWIN C. DINWIDDIE 

COLLECTION OF BOOKS ON 

TEMPERANCE AND ALLIED SUBJECTS 

(PRESENTED BY MRS. DINWIDDIE) 



^a*JL*M^. 



POEMS OF 
AMERICAN PATRIOTISM 



ANTHOLOGY SERIES 



The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics 

F. L. Knowles. 

Poems of American Patriotism — From 1776 to 1898 
R. L. Paget. 

Out of the Heart — Poems for Lovers 

J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick. 

My Lady Sleeps — Poetry of Sleep and Rest 
Katherine S. Page. 

Cap and Gown (1st Series) — College verse 1 800-1 892 
J. L. Harrison. 

Cap and Gown (2d Series) — College verse 1893-1897 
F. L. Knowles. 

Pipe and Pouch — The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry 

Joseph Knight. 

Through Love to Light — Songs of Good Courage 

J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick^ 

The Two Voices — Poems of the Mountains and the Sea 
J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick. 

Hymns of the Higher Life 

L. G PAGE AND COMPANY 

(incorporated) 
\ % Summer Street, Boston, Mass. 



POEMS 

OF 

AMERICAN PATRIOTISM 

1776-1898 



SELECTED BY 

R. L. PAGET 




/'w4i 



BOSTON 
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 

(incorporated) 
MDCCCXCVIII 



^5 






Copyright, i8g8 
By L. C. Page and Company 

(incorporated) 



Gift 

. Bdtsrin O. Dinwiddio, 

teo. ad, lose 



dDoIomal ^ress : 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, U. S. A. 



DEDICATED TO 



PREFATORY NOTE 



Several collections of patriotic verse have been 
made, but none hitherto, so far as I know, which 
carries one later than the Civil War. The present 
compilation makes pretensions neither to complete- 
ness, — a large volume would fail to include every- 
thing of merit which has been inspired by national 
themes, — nor, on the other hand, to a fastidious criti- 
cal standard. Its only aim is that of presenting anew 
the noble and popular songs of the past, long en- 
deared to the country's heart, and a still larger 
amount of stirring contemporary verse, not a little 
of which has already begun to sing itself into the 
memory of our time. 

Without the kind cooperation of Messrs. Hough- 
ton, Mifflin & Company. Messrs. Lee & Shepard, and 
a few other publishers, it would have been impossible 
to include several of the finest selections. My thanks 
are due to them and to all others who have contrib- 
uted in any way to the success of the book. 



CONTENTS. 



Ad Bellonam .... 


F. L. Pollock . 






After All 


W. Winter . 


America 


S. F. Smith . 


An American to His Mother 




And Joe Went .... 




Answering to Roll-call 


F. L. Stanton 


Awakening of Uncle Sam, The . 


S. W. Foss . 






Banner of the Stars, The 


R. W. Raymond 






Battle-cry of Freedom, The 








Battle Hymn of the Republic 


J. W. Howe . 






Battle-ship and Torpedo-boat 


J. W. M. 






Beneath the Flag . 








Bivouac of the Dead . 


T. O'Hara 






Black Regiment, The . 


G. H. Boker . 






Blue and the Gray, The 


F. M. Finch . 






Brave at Home, The . 


T. B. Read . 






Britannia to Columbia . 


A . A ustin 






Brother Jonathan's Lament for 








Sister Caroline 


0. W. Holmes 






Buena Vista 


A . Pike . 






Bugle, The 








Call to the Colors, The 








Cavalry Charge, The . 


B. F. Taylor . 






Cavalry Song . 


E. C. Stedman 






Chickamauga . 


G. T. Ferris . 






Chickamauga — 1898 . 








Columbia . . . 


T. Dwight 






Columbia 


F. L. Knowles 







PAGE 
185 
384 

3SS 

MS 

345 
140 
203 
163 
239 
257 



148 
18 
3io 

119 

104 
20 
297 
205 



CONTENTS. 



Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean . 
Constitution's Last Fight, The . J.J. Roche 
Cuba J. B. Hope 



The. 



Admiral, 



Cuba . 
Cuba, 1897 
Cuba, 1898 
Cuba Libre 
Cuba's Appeal 
Cumberland, The 
" Cut the Cables " 
Defence of the Alamo, 
Dewey, Admiral . 
Dewey at Manila . 
Dewey in Manila Bay 
Dies Irs 

Dirge for a Soldier 
Dream of the Spanish 

The 
Driving Home the Cows 
Eagle's Song, The 
Eight Volunteers . 
Enlisted 
Fall In! 

Fancy Shot, The . 
Farragut 
Flag That Has Never Known 

Defeat, The . 
Flag, The . 
Flag, The . 
Flag Goes By, The 
For Cuba 
Gathering, The . 
Greeting from England 
Guardsman, The . 
Hail, America ! 
Hail, Columbia ! . 
Harbor Mine, The 
Heroic Deed, The 



J. Gardner 
H.Bashford . 
H. R. Vynne . 

J. Miller . 
C. S. Rice 
H. IV. Longfellow 
R. B. Wilson . 

J. Miller . 

F. A . Marshall 
R. U. Johnson 
R. V. Risley . 

G. H. Boker . 



. 5". Dorman 
. K. P. Osgood . 
. R. Mansfield . 
. L. C. Bailey . 
. E. C. Hall . 
. F. N. Scott . 
. C. D. Shanly . 
. IV. T. Meredith 

{C. L. Benjamin 
G. D. Sutton 
M. IV. S. 
H. L. Flash . 



R. M. Bell 
H. B. Swett 



F. X. Finnegan 
F. L. Knowles 
J. Hopkinson . 

F. McK. . 

G. D. Emery . 



PAGE 
4 

93 
226 
228 
230 
231 
335 
347 
137 
394 

99 
342 
378 
370 
307 



329 
190 
327 
4i3 
365 
401 
168 



245 
234 
405 
262 
6 
79 
5i 
278 



CONTENTS. 



Com- 



His New Suit 
Hobson and His Men , 
Hold Dot Fort for Ve Vas C 

ing . 
Hymn of Our Armies, A 
In Action 

In Days Like These . 
In the Hospital . 
In the Time of Strife . 
John Burns of Gettysburg 
Joined the Blues . 
Just One Signal . 
Kearney at Seven Pines 
Keenan's Charge . 
King Coal to Uncle Sam 
Lyon .... 
Maine, The . 
Maine's Men, The 
Manila Bay . 
Marching Along . 
Marching Still 
Marching Through Georgia 
Martyrs of the Maine, The . 
Men Behind the Guns, The 
Men of the North and West 
" Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin " 
Message, A . 
Monterey 
Music in Camp 
Nathan Hale 
Nemesis 

New Beacons Set . 
New Memorial Day, The 
New Toreador, The 
No More Words . 
O Captain ! My Captain ! 
Old Artillerist, The 
Old Continentals, The . 



S. E. Riser 
E. F. Burns 



H. Von Dunkerfoodle 
O. C. Auringer 



T. H. Stacy . 
M. IV. Rowland 
F. L. Stanton 
B. Harte . 
J. L. Rooney . 



E. C. Stedma?i 
G. P. Lathrop 
E. F. Burns . 
H. Peterson . 
G. Dichter 



H. E. W., Jr. 
W. B. Bradbury 
M. Irving 



R. Hughes 
J.J. Rooney . 
R. H. Stoddard 
M. Cawein 
P.B. 

C. F. Hoffman 
J. R. Thompson 
F. M. Finch . 
C. H. Crandall 
J. J. Rooney . 
A . B. Paine . 



F. Lushington 
W. Whitman 
M. Nicholson . 

G. H. McMaster 



XL 



CONTENTS. 








PAGE 


Old Flag Forever . 


. F. L. Stanton 


. • • 36 


Old Ironsides 


. 0. W. Holmes 


• • • 83 


On the Eve of War 


. D. Dandridge 


. 213 


One Beneath Old Glory 




315 


Our Boys Are Marching On 


. J.H.Jewett . 


. 236 


Our Navy 




9i 


Patriotism at Squawville 




259 


Peace-at-any-price Man, A 




271 


Phantoms, The 




276 


Picket Guard, The 


. E. L. Beers . 


. 180 


Prayer for the Nation . 




409 


Race of the Oregon, The 


. J. J. Meehan . 


. 360 


Recompense, The 


. C. H. Dorrie . 


. 390 


Red and the Blue, The 


. H.A. Roby . 


. 251 


Regiment Song . 


. F. L. Stanton 


. 270 


" Remember the Maine " 


. R. B. Wilson . 


. 219 


Remembered 


. J. L. Gordon . 


. 300 


Reunited 


. F. L. Stanton 


• 392 


Reveille 


. B. If arte . 


• 135 


Roll-call 


. N. G. Shepherd 


• 133 


Sailing of the Fleet, The 




412 


Salute the Flag . 


. H. C. Bunner 


22 


Sheridan's Ride . 


. T. B. Read . 


. . 187 


Smallest of the Drums, The 


. J. Btickham 


• 151 


Soarin' o' the Eagle, The 


. M. F. Ham . 


. 294 


Soldier Boy for Me, The 


. S. E. Riser . 


• 49 


Soldier's Heart, A 




SS 


Somebody's Darling . 


. Maria La Conte 


. 29 


Song for the Fleet, A . 


. C. Scollard 


. 291 


Song for the Hour, A . 


. W. F. Dunbar 


. 301 


Song for the Sailor-men, A 




3i8 


Song of Dewey's Guns, The 


. S. W. Foss . 


• 337 


Song of Manila, The . 


. S. Sterne 


. 248 


Song of Marion's Men . 


. W. C. Bryant 


. . 76 


Song of the Battle-ships 


. C. F. Harder . 


• 47 


Song of the Bullet 


. J. IV. Riley . 


. 41 


Song of the Cannon, The 


. S. IV. Foss . 


. 42 


Song of the Fleet, A . 


. F. L. Stanton 


• 344 



CONTENTS 








PAGE 


Song of the Rapid-fires 




222 


Song of Then and Now, The 


J. Barnes 


• 57 


Spain's Hour of Doom 


A . R. Haven . 


• • 376 


Spaniard Answered, The 


R. C. Rogers . 


. 286 


Spirit of the Maine 


T. Jenks . 


• 372 


Spring at the Capital . 


E. A. Allen . 


. 130 


Star Spangled Banner, The . 


F. S. Key 


• • 85 


Strike the Blow .... 


F. McK. . 


. 281 


Stripes and the Stars, The . 


E. D. Proctor 


. 128 


Those Rebel Flags 


J. H.Jewett . 


. 308 


Three Hundred Thousand More . 




197 


To Admiral George Dewey . 


V. Vaughan . 


• 343 


To Spain — A Last Word . 


E. M. Thomas 


• 225 


To the American Poet . 


F. L. Knowles 


. XV. 


To the Flying Squadron 




388 


Torpedo-boat, The 


J. Barnes . 


• 34 


Tramp, Tramp, Tramp 


G. F. Root 


• 144 


Troop-ship Sails, The . 


R. W. Chambers 


. 126 


Twins in the Turret, The . 


J. P. Bocock . 


. 240 


Uncle Sam's Spring Cleaning 


S. W. Foss . 


• 273 


Uncover to the Flag . 


E. C. Cheverton 


. . 263 


Under the Stars and Stripes 


M. Cawein 


. 246 


Voice from the Old Boys Left 






Behind 


J. H. Jewett . 


• 340 


Voice of the Oregon, The 


H. J. D. Browne 


. 264 


Volunteer, The .... 


E. J. Cutler . 


. 44 


Volunteer, The .... 


F. L. Stanton . 


. 269 


War 


S. W. Foss . 


. 23 


War Hymn 


B. R. Stevens . 


. 292 


War Poem ..... 


R. La Gallienne 


. . 267 


War Prayer 


M. J.H.. 


• 353 


Warren's Address 


J. Pierpont 


■ • 65 


War-ship " Dixie," The 


F. L. Stanton 


■ 325 


War-ship of 1812, The . 




3i 


When This Cruel War Is Over . 


C. C. Sawyer . 


. 142 


Where Columbia Stands 


A . H. Hall . 


• • 338 


Yankee Thunders 




88 


1898 and 1562 


S. W. Foss . 


. • 383 



to t$t ®metictm $oef. 

TJNRA VEL all your tangled cheats, 

Yotir triple-twisted thread conceits, - 
Your subtle sonnets fling afar / — 
Stand up and show what man you are / 

Why linger o'er decrepit shrine 
In Hellas or in Palestine ? 
America as Greece is grand, 
America is Holy Land. 

The songs of Nile, and for dan's tunes 
Our sluggish Mississippi croons, — 
Lo / Caught in Erie like a gem 
The star that shone o'er Bethlehem / 



The age — young, buoyant — longs 

to hear 
Its hopes in ?nusic high and clear, 
Yet ashes o'er your laurels lie, 
You rend your garment of the sky. 



TO THE AMERICAN POET. 



O juggler with the fire divi?ie, 
O hoarder of God's bread and wine, 
Your dark and doleful sprigs of verse 
Nod like the plumes above a hearse. 

Behold your birthright / Cast away 
The mess of pottage. Scorn for aye 
The smirking bravo, thin applause, — 
Small praise of critics'* courts and laws. 



/ 



join the great chorus, — all that sings 
Seize the vast harp of divers strings / 
What hands have helped that growing 

tone : 
fob's, Homer's, Shakespeare's / Add 

your own ! 

We want again the note of joy, 
The immortal rapture of the boy, 
The flame lit quenchless in the dust, 
The lips that sing because they must. 



A world of wonders wait its song, — 
Invention, science, hideous wrong 
Heart-smitten by Truth's arrow sharp, — 
Up, blinded sceptic ! Grasp your harp / 

Frederic Lawrence Knowles. 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM 



POEMS OF 
AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



America. 

TVyT Y country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet Land of Liberty, 

Of thee I sing; 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain side 

Let Freedom ring. 

My native country, thee, 
Land of the noble free, 

Thy name I love ; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills, 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet Freedom's song ; 
Let mortal tongues awake ; 
Let all that breathe partake ; 
Let rocks their silence break, 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers' God, to thee, 
Author of Liberty, 

To thee we sing ; 
Long may our land be bright 
With Freedom's holy light ; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God, our King. 

Our glorious Land to-day, 
'Neath Education's sway, 

Soars upward still. 
Its halls of learning fair, 
Whose bounties all may share, 
Behold them everywhere 

On vale and hill ! 

Thy safeguard, Liberty, 
The school shall ever< be, — 
Our Nation's pride I 



AMERICA. 



No tyrant hand shall smite, 

While with encircling might 

All here are taught the Right 

With Truth allied. 

Beneath Heaven's gracious will 
The star of progress still 

Our course doth sway ; 
In unity sublime 
To broader heights we climb, 
Triumphant over Time, 

God speeds our way ! 

Grand birthright of our sires, 
Our altars and our fires 

Keep we still pure ! 
Our starry flag unfurled, 
The hope of all the world, 
In Peace and Light impearled, 

God hold secure ! 

— S. F. Smith. 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Cofumfiia, fl$e (Bern of flje fyctan. 

S~\ COLUMBIA, the gem of the ocean, 

The home of the brave and the free, 
The shrine of each patriot's devotion, 

A world offers homage to thee ! 
Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 

When Liberty's form stands in view ; 
Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the red, white, and blue. 



When borne by the red, white, and blue, 
When borne by the red, white, and blue, 
Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, 
When borne by the red, white, and blue. 

When war winged its wide desolation 

And threatened the land to deform, 
The ark then of Freedom's foundation, 

Columbia, rode safe thro' the storm ; 
With her garlands of vict'ry around her, 

When so proudly she bore her brave 
crew, 
With her flag proudly floating before her, 

The boast of the red, white, and blue. 

— Cho. 



COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN. 



The wine-cup, the wine-cup bring hither, 

And fill you it true to the brim ; 
May the wreaths they have won never 
wither, 

Nor the star of their glory grow dim ! 
May the service united ne'er sever, 

But they to their colors prove true ! 
The Army and Navy forever ! 

Three cheers for the red, white, and 
blue ! — Cho. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



gaif, (America. 

THTAIL, son of peak and prairie, 
Triumphant o^er thy foes / — 
Shod with the sands of Cuba, 

Crowned with the Klondike snows ! 

The breast that nursed thee, shrunk 
with age, 

Still yielded milk of power; 
Past kingdoms prophesied thy birth 

And groaned to see thy hour. 
Hark ! Egypt moves her lips of stone : 

" For thee I labored long." 
Listen ! The isles of Homer : 

" We named thee in our song." 

I hear a mighty struggling 

Like grave-clothes torn from death ; 
Millions of lips unmuffled 

Pour unaccustomed breath : 
" Hail, foundling of the western seas, 

Hail, harsh and sacred sod, 
Where the strong plant of Freedom 

Holds up its leaves to God ! 



HAIL, AMERICA. 



" For thee our toil, our anguish, 

The pathos of our years, 
Our baths in bleeding battles, 

Our lives of sweat and tears ! " 

Hark ! like a climbing sun, the Voice 
Mounts upward, — owns the sky, 

And clarions from the zenith 
In trumpet-tongued reply : 

" Ye shall no longer wait me, 

Nor call upon my name, 
I come, O buried fathers, 

The latest fruit of fame ! 
The Indies pay me tribute, 

The Andes bring me' toll, 
I own no serfs but loyal hearts 

That kiss my kind control. 

" My hands are free from slaughter, 

The sheath conceals the sword, 
I trust the regiments of Heaven, 

And navies of the Lord ! 
Peace is my guard and angel, 

Her wings above me stir, — 
Mine arms I reach to all the world, 

Mine eyes I turn to her. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



" Yet, ah ! if honor's ensign 

Be trampled in the dust, 
With angry sorrow let me show 

How strife may still be just ; 
I will tell History that she lies, 

Even at her very door, 
And buy a more enduring peace 

At the red cost of war. 

" Trafalgar greets Manila, 

All ages grow divine, 
Distance is dead, the Past a dream, 

And Marathon is mine ! 
Wherever heroes die for truth, 

Beneath whatever sun, 
The years are lovers clasping hands, 

And all the world is one ! 

" O buried sires, your hands are mould - 

That once were hot to slay, 
Those eyes are filled with dust, that 



With sight of human prey. 
Kings tremble on their purple thrones, 

Crowns crumble, tyrants die, 
While down untold Millenniums, 

March Destiny and I ! " 



HAIL, AMERICA. 



That tattered flag your father kissed, 
Fling, boy, against the gale / 

And join the cry that rends ihe sky : 
Hail, ho??ie of freedo?n, hail! 

Hail, son of peak and prairie / 
Hail, lord of coast and sea / 

Our pi'ayers and song, — our lives 



Land of our love, to thee / 

— Fi'ederic Lawrence Knowles. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



t$t Sfag. 

T T P with the banner of the free ! 

Its stars and stripes unfurled ! 
And let the battle beauty blaze 

Above a startled world. 
No more around its towering staff 

The folds shall twine again, 
Till falls beneath its righteous wrath 

The gonfalon of Spain. 

That flag with constellated stars 

Shines ever in the van ! 
And like the rainbow in the storm, 

Presages peace to man. 
For still amid the cannon's roar 

It sanctifies the fight, 
And flames along the battle lines, 

The emblem of the Right. 

It seeks no conquest, knows no fear; 

Cares not for pomp or state ; 
As pliant as the atmosphere, 

As resolute as Fate. 



THE FLAG. 



Where'er it floats, on land or sea, 

No stain its honor mars, 
And Freedom smiles, her fate secure 

Beneath its steadfast stars. 



— Henry Lynden Flash. 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



©trge for a JJofbier. 

/""^LOSE his eyes; his work is done ! 

What to him is friend or foeman, 
Rise of moon, or set of sun, 

Hand of man, or kiss of woman ? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 

As man may, he fought his fight, 

Proved his truth by his endeavor ; 
Let him sleep in solemn night, 
Sleep forever and forever. 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 

Fold him in his country's stars, 

Roll the drum and fire the volley ! 
What to him are all our wars, 

What but death bemocking folly ? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 



DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. 



Leave him to God's watching eye ; 

Trust him to the hand that made him. 
Mortal love weeps idly by ; 

God alone has power to aid him. 

Lay him low, lay him low, 

In the clover or the snow ! 

What cares he ? He cannot know ! 

Lay him low ! 

— G. H. Boker. 



J 3 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$b (J&effonam. ' 

l\/r OTHER of Swords ! While the river runs, 

Or the steamer seeks the sea, 
While the north wind blows from the chill of Snows, 

And the south from the scented Key, 
So long, so long will live the song 

That thy lilting bugles sing, 
As the war-ship rides down the deep-sea tides, 
Where the green foams white on her armored sides, 

And the wind'ard gun-shields ring. 

There be they who sing that the song will cease, 

The song that thy sons began ; 
That the good old World will loll in peace, 

In the bond of the- Peace of Man. 
They sing, — and clear 'twixt the notes we hear 

The clink of the warrior's trade ; 
And the thund'rous call where the hammers fall, 
And the steam-power shrieks o'er the factory wall, 

Where the rifled guns are made. 

The Breath of the Lord may rule the sea, 

And the Lies of Men the land ; 
And the craft of the tongue may hold in fee 

The strength of the heavy hand; 

14 



AD BELLONAM. 



But though tongues may quicken and strength may- 
sicken, 

And hands grow soft and small, 
Year upon year the day draws near 
Of the unsheathed sword and the shaken spear, 

That shall make amends for all. 

When the Armageddon sunrise breaks 

On the ironclad's smoking line ; 
When the last dawn lights on that last of fights 

Where the strength of man shall shine, 
One last grim day of the world at play 

With bugle and tuck of drum, 
While the red drops beat on the shattered fleet, 
Till the red sun sinks on the last defeat, 

Then — let the Millennium come ! 

— Frank L. Pollock. 



*5 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

£0e ffag tfycd 3ESas (tte&er Qtfcnoton ©efeat 

r\N history's crimson pages, high up on the roll 

of fame. 
The story of Old Glory burns, in deathless words of 

flame. 
'Twas cradled in war's blinding smoke, amid the 

roar of guns, 
Its lullabies were battle-cries, the shouts of freedom's 

sons; 
It is the old red, white, and blue, proud emblem of 

the free, 
It is the flag that floats above our land of liberty. 
Then greet it, when you meet it, boys, the flag that 

waves on high ; 
And hats off, all along the line, when freedom's flag 

goes by. 

CHORUS. 

Uncover when the flag goes by, boys, 

'Tis freedom's stany banner that you greet, 

Flag famed in song and story, 

Long may it wave, OH Glory, 
The flag that has never known defeat. 

All honor to the Stars and Stripes, our glory and 
our pride, 

16 



FLAG THAT HAS NEVER KNOWN DEFEAT. 



All honor to the flag for which our fathers fought 

and died ; 
On many a blood-stained battle-field, on many a gory 

sea, 
The flag has triumphed, evermore triumphant may it 

be. 
And since again, 'mid shot and shell, its folds must 

be unfurled, 
God grant that we may keep it still unstained before 

the world. 
All hail the flag we love, may it victorious ever fly, 
And hats off, all along the line, when freedom's flag 

goes by. - — Cho. 
— Charles L. Benjamin and George D. Sutton. 



17 



4 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e ®ra&e at gome. 

HTHE maid who binds her warrior's sash 

With smile that well her pain dissembles, 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, 
Though Heaven alone records the tear, 

And fame shall never know her story, 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As e'er bedewed the field of glory ! 



The wife who girds her husband's sword 

'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 
And bravely speaks the cheering word, 

What though her heart be rent asunder, 
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 

The bolts of death around him rattle, 
Has shed as sacred blood as e'er 

Was poured upon the field of battle. 

The mother who conceals her grief 

While to her breast her son she presses, 

Then breathes a few brave words and brief, 
Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 

18 



THE BRAVE AT HOME. 



With no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 

Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor ! 

— Thomas Buchanan Read. 






19 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



T N a glittering glory of diamond dew, 

Where the tall white headstones gleam in a 
row, 
By the ivied church, Memorial Day, 

With sheaves of lilies the mourners go. 
All but one, and she sits alone, 

A sad-eyed woman with locks of gray, 
And keeps a tryst of the vanished years 

With the dear, dead lover who marched away. 

Her whitened tresses were brown and bright, 

Her cheeks were pink as a damask rose, 
When he clasped her close in a last embrace, 

While about them fluttered the orchard's snows. 
The bugle called in the sunlit morn, 

Bayonets glistened, and flags were gay, 
He turned to wave her a loud adieu, — 

The brave young lover who marched away. 

To the silent city above the town, 

With garlands laden, yet still they pass, 

But she seeth only a curly head 

And a broken sword in the trampled grass. 



THE BUGLE. 



She weaveth a wreath of heliotrope, 

And heareth even the bugle play 
That is mute with rust in the mouldered hand 

Of the gallant lover who marched away. 

The flowers have fallen about her feet, 

Her lips are pale, and her fingers chill, 
Far above the blue of the crystal sky 

Her spirit follows the bugle still. 
Its silvery melody leads her on, 

Till far in a world of fadeless May 
She plights the troth of her youth again 

With the handsome lover who marched away. 

There was never a shot that screamed and fell, 

And never a bayonet-thrust went through 
The dauntless breast of a soldier boy, 

But it pierced the heart of a woman, too. 
From end to end of the land they sit 

By desolate hearths, alone and gray, 
And wait for the ghastly bugle-call 

And the soldier lover who marched away. 

— Minna Irving. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



/^\FF with your hat as the flag goes by ! 

And let the heart have its say : 
You're man enough for a tear in your eye 
That you will not wipe away. 

You're man enough for a thrill that goes 

To your very finger-tips — 
Ay ! the lump just then in your throat that rose 

Spoke more than your parted lips. 

Lift up the boy on your shoulder high, 

And show him the faded shred ; 
Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky 

If death could have dyed them red. 

Off with your hat as the flag goes by ! 

Uncover the youngster's head ; 
Teach him to hold it holy and high 

For the sake of its sacred dead. 

— H. C. Bunner. 



Wat\ 

T AM War. The upturned eyeballs of piled dead 
men greet my eye, 

And the sons of mothers perish, — and I laugh to see 
them die, — 

Mine the demon lust for torture, mine the devil lust 
for pain, 

And there is to me no beauty like the pale brows of 
the slain ! 

But my voice calls forth the godlike from the slug- 
gish souls at ease, 

And the hands that toyed with ledgers scatter thun- 
ders 'round the seas ; 

And the lolling idler, wakening, measures up to God's 
own plan, 

And the puling trifler greatens to the stature of a 
man. 

When I speak, the centuried towers of old cities melt 

in smoke, 
And the fortressed ports sink reeling at my far-aimed 

thunder-stroke ; 
And an immemorial empire flings its last flag to the 

breeze, 
Sinking with its splintered navies down in the unpity- 

ing seas. 

23 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



But the blind of sight awaken to an unimagined day, 

And the mean of soul grow conscious there is great- 
ness in their clay ; 

Where my bugle voice goes pealing slaves grow 
heroes at its breath, 

And the trembling coward rushes to the welcome 
arms of death. 

Pagan, heathen and inhuman, devilish as the heart 
of hell, 

Wild as chaos, strong for ruin, clothed in hate un- 
speakable, — 

So they call me, — and I care not, — still I work my 
waste afar, 

Heeding not your weeping mothers and your widows 
— I am War ! 

But your soft-boned men grow heroes when my flam- 
ing eyes they see, 

And I teach your little people how supremely great 
they be ; 

Yea, I tell them of the wideness of the soul's unfolded 
plan 

And the godlike stuff that's moulded in the making of 
a man. 

Ah, the godlike stuff that's moulded in the making of 
a man! 



24 



It has stood my iron testing since this strong old 

world began. 
Tell me not that men are weaklings, halting trem- 
blers, pale and slow, — 
There is stuff to shame the seraphs in the race of 

men — I know. 
I have tested them by fire, and I know that man is 

great, 
And the soul of man is stronger than is either death 

or fate ; 
And where'er my bugle calls them, under any sun or 

star, 
They will leap with smiling faces to the fire test of 

war. 

— Sam Walter Foss. 



25 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



3n Qction. 

'IITHEN the blue-black waves are tipped with 

white, and the balmy trade-winds blow, 
When the palm-crowned coast in the offing lies, with 

sands like the driven snow, 
When the mighty hulls of the battle-ships — the 

nation's strength and pride — 
And the ghostlike little torpedo-boats are lying side 

by side ; 

When all is still save the screaming gulls, as they 

circle high o'erhead, 
When naught is heard on the steel-bound decks, save 

the watches' measured tread, 
When far to windward a tiny cloud floats up from the 

grim old fort, 
Then the piercing scream of a shrapnel-shot and the 

ten-ton gun's report ; 

Then armored decks are alive with life, and the calls 

to quarters below, 
Then the gun crews stand beside their guns, and the 

stokers sweat below, 
Then the jingling bells in the engine-room clamor and 

call for speed, 

26 



IN ACTION. 



And the thousand tons of hardened steel shake like 
a wind-tossed reed. 

Now the guns of the fort are belching flame, and the 

shot and shell fall fast, 
Now three are down by the forward gun, and six in 

the fighting mast, 
Now the ships rush on in majesty, while the gunners 

hold their breath, 
And pray to their God to spare them still from the 

harbor's hidden death. 

Now a string of fluttering signal flags from the bridge 

of the flagship fly, 
Now the gatlings, rapids, and twelve-inch guns with 

a crashing peal reply, 
Now the smoke hangs low o'er the shot-torn wave, 

dark death lurks in the air, 
And never a word by the guns is said while they spit 

and boom and flare. 

The fleet steams up in battle array, and the broad- 
sides crash and roar, 

While the rumble and rip from the enemy's guns 
reply from the smoke-hung shore ; 

The once white decks run red with blood, while the 
surgeons work below, 

And fort and fleet, with shot and shell, pay back each 
blow with blow. 

27 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



At last a flag of truce is raised and gleams through 

the drifting smoke, 
And the havoc and wreck of a gun is seen, where a 

ten-inch shrapnel broke ; 
At last the guns of the fleet are still, and now from far 

and near 
Are heard the shouts of a victor's crew as they 

answer cheer with cheer. 

The shrilly call of the bo's'n's mate the crew from 

quarters piptes, 
And the dead are stretched on the quarter-deck, 

wrapped in the stars and stripes, 
While the setting sun sinks in the west, a blazing 

ball of fire, 
Lighting the scene of a battle fought, and the carnage 

of man's desire. 



28 



SOMEBODY'S DARLING. 



JJomefiofcg's ©arfing. 

T NTO a ward of the whitewashed walls, 

Where the dead and the dying lay, 
Wounded by bayonet shells and balls, 

Somebody's darling was borne one day, — 
Somebody's darling, so young and brave, 

Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face, 
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave, 

The lingering light of his boyhood's grace. 



Matted and damp are the curls of gold, 

Kissing the snow of that fair young brow ; 
Pale are the lips of delicate mould, — 

Somebody's darling is dying now. 
Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow 

Brush his wandering waves of gold, 
Cross his hands on his bosom now, — 

Somebody's darling is still and cold. 



Kiss him once for somebody's sake, 
Murmur a prayer, soft and low ; 

One bright curl from his fair mates take, 
They were somebody's pride, you know ; 



29 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Somebody's hand hath rested there — 
Was it a mother's, soft and white ? 

Or have the lips of a sister fair 

Been baptized in those waves of light ? 

God knows best ; he has somebody's love ; 

Somebody's heart enshrined him there ; 
Somebody's wafted his name above * 

Night and morn on the wings of prayer ; 
Somebody wept when he marched away, 

Looking so handsome, brave, and grand ; 
Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, 

Somebody clung to his parting hand. 

Somebody's watching and waiting for him, — 

Yearning to hold him again to her heart ; 
And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, 

And the smiling, childlike lips apart ; 
Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear ; 
Carve on the wooden slab at his head : 

" Somebody's Darling slumbers here." 

— Maria La Conte. 



30 



THE WAR- SHIP OF 1812. 



£0e Watt&Qip of 1812. 

CHE was no armored cruiser of twice six thousand 

tons, 
With the thirty foot of metal that make your modern 

guns; 
She didn't have a freeboard of thirty- foot in clear, 
An' she didn't need a million repairin' fund each 

year. 
She had no rackin' engines to ramp an' stamp an' 

strain, 
To work her steel-clad turrets an' break her hull in 

twain ; 
She did not have electric lights, — the battle-lantern's 

glare 
Was all the light the 'tween decks had, — an' God's 

own good fresh air. 

She had no gapin' air-flumes to throw us down our 
breath, 

An' we didn't batten hatches to smother men to 
death ; 

She didn't have five hundred smiths — two hundred 
men would do — 

In the old-time Yankee frigate for an old-time Yan- 
kee crew, 

3i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



An' a fightin' Yankee captain, with his old-time Yan- 
kee clothes, 

A-cursin' Yankee sailors with his old-time Yankee 
oaths. 

She was built of Yankee timber and manned by Yan- 
kee men, 

An' fought by Yankee sailors — Lord send their like 
again ! 

With the wind abaft the quarter and the sea-foam 
flyin' free, 

An' every tack and sheet housed taut and braces 
eased to lee, 

You could hear the deep sea thunder from the knight- 
heads where it broke, 

As she trailed her lee guns under a blindin' whirl o' 
smoke. 

She didn't run at twenty knots, — she wasn't built to 

run, — 
An' we didn't need a half a watch to handle every 

gun. 
Our captain didn't fight his ship from a little pen o' 

steel ; 
He fought her from his quarter-deck, with two hands 

at the wheel, 
An' we fought in Yankee fashion, half-naked, — 

stripped to board, — 

32 



THE WAR -SHIP OF 1812. 



An' when they hauled their red flag down we praised 

the Yankee Lord ; 
We fought like Yankee sailors, an' we'll do it, too, 

again, 
You've changed the ships an' methods, but you can't 

change Yankee men ! 

— Philadelphia Record. 



33 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e totpetoottioat 

CHE'S a floating boiler, crammed with fire and 
steam, 
A toy, with dainty works like any watch ; 
A working, weaving basketful of tricks, — 
Eccentric, cam and lever, cog and notch. 
She's a dashing, lashing, tumbling shell of steel, 

A headstrong, kicking, nervous, plunging beast, — 
A long, lean ocean liner, — trimmed down small ; 
A bucking bronco harnessed for the east. 
She can rear and toss and roll 
Your body from your soul, 
And she's most unpleasant wet,' — to say the least! 

But see her slip in ; sneaking down, at night, 

All a-tremble, deadly, silent, — Satan-sly. 
Watch her gather for the rush, and catch her breath ! 

See her dodge the wakeful cruiser's sweeping eye. 
Hear the humming ! Hear her coming ! coming fast ! 

(That's the sound might make men wish they were 
at home 
— Hear the rattling Maxim, barking rapid fire ! ) 

See her loom out through the fog with bows 
afoam ! 



34 



THE TORPEDO-BOAT. 



Then some will wish for land. 
(They 'd be sand fleas in the sand ; 
Or yellow grubs reposing in the loam !) 

She's a floating boiler, crammed with fire and steam, 

A dainty toy, with works just like a watch ; 
A weaving, working basketful of tricks, — 

A pent volcano, and stoppered at top-notch. 
She is Death and swift Destruction in a case 

(Not the Unseen, but the Awful, — plain in sight), 
The Dread that must be halted when afar ; 
She's a concentrated, fragile form of Might ! 
She's a daring, vicious thing, 
With a rending, deadly sting, — 
And she asks no odds nor quarter in the fight ! 
— James Barnes. 



35 



I 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



OHE'S up there, — Old Glory, — where lightnings 

are sped ; 
She dazzles the nations with ripples of red ; 
And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us 

dead, — 
The flag of our country forever ! 
She's up there, — Old Glory, — how bright the stars 

stream ! 
And the stripes like red signals of liberty gleam ! 
And we dare for her, living, or dream the last dream, 
'Neath the flag of our country forever ! 
She's up there, — Old Glory, — no tyrant-dealt scars, 
No blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars ! 
The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars. 
She's the flag of our country forever ! 

— Frank L. Stanton. 



36 



THE FLAG. 



$0e $ft*5. 

"D OLL a river wide and strong, 

Like the tides a-swinging. 
Lift the joyful floods of song, 

Set the mountains ringing. 
Run the lovely banner high, — 

Crimson morning-glory ! 
Field as blue as yonder sky, 

Every star a story. 

Let the people, heart and lip, 

Hail the gleaming splendor ! 
Let the guns from shore and ship 

Acclamation render ! 
All ye oceans, clap your hands ! 

Echo plains and highlands, 
Speed the voice thro' all the lands 

To the Orient islands. 

Darling flag of liberty ! 

Law and Love revealing, 
All the downcast turn to thee, 

For thy help appealing. 
In the front for human right, 

Flash thy stars of morning, 

37 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



All that hates and hides the light 
Flies before thy warning. 

By the colors of the day, 

By the breasts that wear them, 
To the living God we pray 

For the brave that bear them ! 
Run the rippling banner high ; 

Peace or war the weather, 
Cheers or tears, we'll live or die 

Under it together. 

— M. IV. S. 



COLUMBIA. 



Cofumfiia. 



lyi" ATED to the Millennium, — Time's last heir 
And proudest daughter, conquerless as he ; 
Girdled with lakes like jewels princely fair, 
With strong feet planted in the Mexic sea ! 



Where Law is liberty, where Love is power, 

And the twain one, there Treason cannot dwell ; 

A fangless asp, it coiled one impotent hour, 

But at thy white glance backward writhed to hell. 

Leave dotard empires flames of drunken war, 
Be thine chaste hours of labor and increase, 

Vineyards and harvests yielding guiltless store, 
Toil's bloodless battles on the plains of peace ! 



Yet when slain Weakness, dying at thy door, 

Summoning thy right arm's vengeance, clasps thy 
feet, — 

Thy sword that drinks her murderer's blood is pure 
As laughing sickles in the saffron wheat. 

39 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Clearing a crimson path where Peace may tread 
More safely ; thou dost play thy patient part, 

Love's pledged ally, — yea, though thy blade be red ; 
Thrusting War's weapons thro' his own false heart. 

O goddess, arctic-crowned and tropic-shod 
And belted with great waters, hear our cry, — 

More honest never reached the ear of God, — 
We'll serve thee, laud thee, love thee, till we die ! 
— Frederic Lawrence Knoivles. 



40 



SONG OF THE BULLET. 



§ow of *0e Q&uffet 

T T whizzed and whistled along the blurred 

And red-blent ranks ; and it nicked the star 
Of an epaulette, as it snarled the word, — ■ 
War! 

On he sped, — and the lifted wrist 

Of the ensign-bearer stung, and straight 

Dropped at his side, as the word was hissed, — 

Hate! 

II 
On went the missile, — smoothed the blue 

Of a jaunty cap, and the curls thereof, 

Cooing soft, as a dove might do, — 

Love ! 

Sang ! — sang on ! — sang hate, — sang war, — 

Sang love, in sooth, till it needs must cease, 
Hushed in the heart it was questing, or, — 
Peace ! 

— James Whitcomb Riley. 



4i 



1 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e Jjjong of f$e Cannon. 

■\ 17" HEN the diplomats cease from their 
capers, 

Their red-tape requests and replies, 
Their shuttlecock battle of papers, 

Their saccharine parley of lies ; 
When the plenipotentiary wrangle 

Is tied in a chaos of knots, 
And becomes an unwindable tangle 

Of verbals unmarried to thoughts ; 
When they've anguished and argued pro- 
foundly, 

Asserted, assumed, and averred, 
Then I end up the dialogue roundly 

With my monosyllabical word. 

Not mine is a speech academic, 

No lexicon lingo is mine, 
And in politic parley, polemic, 

I was never created to shine. 
But I speak with some show of decision, 

And I never attempt to be bland, 
I hurl my one word with precision, 

My hearers — they all understand. 



THE SONG OF THE CANNON. 



It requires no labored translation, 
Its pith and its import to glean ; 

They gather its signification, 

They know at the first what I mean. 

The codes of the learned legations, 

Of form, and of rule, and decree, 
The etiquette books of the nations, — 

They were never intended for me. 
When your case is talked into confusion, 

Then hush you, my diplomat friend, 
Give me just a word in conclusion, 

Let me bring the dispute to an end. 
Ye diplomats, cease to aspire 

A case that's appealed to debate, 
It has gone to a court that is higher, 

And I'm the Attorney for Fate. 

— Sam Walter Foss. 



43 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e tyofunfeer. 

"AT dawn," he said, " I bid them all farewell, 
To go where bugles call and rifles gleam." 
And with the restless thought asleep he fell, 
And glided into dream. 

A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread, — 

Through it a level river slowly drawn ; 
He moved with a vast crowd, and at its head 
Streamed banners like the dawn. 

There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar, 
And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay ; 
Blood trickled down the river's reedy shore, 
And with the dead he lay. 

The morn broke in upon his solemn dreams, 

And still with steady pulse and deepening eye, 
" Where bugles call," he said, " and rifles gleam, 
I follow, though I die ! " 

Wise youth ! By few is glory's wreath attained ; 

But death, or late or soon, awaiteth all, 
To fight in Freedom's cause is something gained, — 
And nothing lost to fall. 

— Elbridge Jefferson Cutler. 



44 



THE FLAG GOES BY. 

Zfyt §fag (goes fg$. 

IT ATS off ! 

Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky. 
Hats off ! 
The flag is passing by ! 

Blue, and crimson, and white it shines, 

Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. 

Hats off ! 

The colors before us fly ; 

But more than the flag is passing by. 

Sea fights and land fights, grim and great, 
Fought to make and to save the state ; 
Weary marches and sinking ships ; 
Cheers of victory on dying lips; 

Days of plenty, and years of peace, 
March of a strong land's swift increase ; 
Equal justice, right, and law, 
Stately honor and reverend awe ; 

Sign of a Nation, great and strong, 

To ward her people from foreign wrong ; 

45 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Pride, and glory, and honor, all 
Live in the colors to stand or fall. 

Hats off ! 

Along the street there comes 

A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums ; 

And loyal hearts are beating high. 

Hats off ! 

The flag is passing by ! 



46 



SONG OF THE BATTLE- SHIPS. 



Jiong of f0e (gattUt&fyip*. 

TV T IND of man, what have you wrought, 

From the ribs of mother earth, 
From the soil that gave you birth ? 
Mind of man, what have you wrought ? 

You have builded mighty navies, you have made the 

sea your slave, 
And the booming of your cannon strikes the crest of 

every wave ; 

You have dug into the bowels of the earth's eternal 

hills, 
Tearing out the stubborn metals for the grinding of 

your mills ; 

For the forging of your hammers, for the blowing of 

your blasts, 
For the making of your armor, for the. building of 

your masts ; 

For the guns whose rolling thunders frighten half a 

world in awe, 
Shouting out the fateful message, " Right is Might, 

and Might is Law." 

47 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Oh, the guns, great guns, 
Shooting forty million tons ; 
Shooting death, and shooting hell ! 
Aim, you gunners, aim them well. 

You have slaved a million freemen for the digging of 

your coal, 
For your engines throbbing wildly, like a panting 

human soul. 

You have chained the ragged lightning, and you hold 

it in your hand, 
By the pressing of a button you can devastate a land. 

Oh, the fury of your anger ! Oh, the pent-up seas 
of blood 

That shall wet the ocean's battles with a gory, hu- 
man flood ! 

Oh, the booming of your cannon ! Oh, the millions 

you shall slay, 
When the wrath of man is loosened in a frightful 

judgment day ! 

Mind of man, what have you wrought, 
From the ribs of mother earth, 
From the soil that gave you birth ? 
Mind of man, what have you wrought ? 

— C. F. Harper. 

48 



THE SOLDIER BOY FOR ME. 



€§e JJofbier (§0% for (Jtte. 

'""PHE man who wears the shoulder-straps 

And has his sword in hand, 
Who proudly strides along in front, 

Looks good, and brave, and grand ; 
But, back there in the ranks somewhere, — 

Just which I cannot see, — 
With his gun upon his shoulder, is 

The soldier boy for me ! 

The man who wears the shoulder-straps 

Is handsome, brave, and true, 
But there are other handsome boys, 

And other brave ones, too ! 
When there are heights that must be won 

While bullets fill the air, 
' Tis not the officer alone 

Who braves the dangers there. 

The man who wears the shoulder-straps 

Is cheered along the way, 
And public honor dulls his dread 

Of falling in the fray ; 
But, there behind him in the ranks, 

And moving like a part 

49 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Of some machine, is many a man 
With just as brave a heart. 

The man who wears the shoulder-straps 

Deserves the people's praise ; 
I honor and applaud him for 

The noble part he plays ; 
But, back there in the ranks somewhere, 

Stout-hearted, brave, is he, — 
Prepared to do, and nerved to dare, — 

The soldier boy for me ! 

— S. E. Kiser. 



So 



THE HARBOR MINE. 



$0e Igatffor (JJtine. 

r^ IVE the speedway to the cruiser, 

Give the monitor the tide, 
To the battle-ship with its steel side-strip 

The channel deep and wide ; 
Give the fleet full way o'er the ocean, 
Give the batt'ries wind-wide range ; 
But mine be a grave 'neath the salt-sea wave, 
'Mid the creatures wild and strange, 
For I am the harbor mine, 
And day by day I swing 
On my anchor-chain 'neath the rolling 
main 
While the billows sadly sing. 
Yea, I am the harbor mine. 

And I am the monster fell 
For those who tread upon my head 
As they would on a hidden hell. 

Give the broad sea course to the steel-girt horse 

That champs on the rolling foam, 
And give the breadth of the leagueless tide 

To the fleets that coastwise roam ; 
But give me a rest 'neath the billows' crest, 

As, oh, they sweetly sing 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Of the world above where they dream of love 
And the earth grows bright with spring. 
For I am the harbor mine. 

They whisper : " Don't go there, 
He's the avatar of the woe of man, 

Of sorrow and despair." 
They know not where I hide, 

And they dare not track my den, 
For I am the flame of the under-deep 

And I feed on mangled men. 

Give the wind to the merchant-liners, 

The channel to the fleet ; 
In the harbor mouth, by North by South, 

For the coming of their feet 
I wait through the weary hours, 

And they search for me in vain, 
For I am the hidden hell that sleeps 
In the crib of the under-main. 
Oh, I am the harbor mine ! 

The sea-gulls come and go, 
Above the sun and the stars that shine 

Smile on me here below ; 
But the ship that sails my way, 

Ah, who shall count the wrack 
Of the shriven plates as the lightning leaps 
Along the magnet's track ! 



THE HARBOR MINE. 



For a keen eye in the portals, 
With a hand upon the key, 
From the fortress waits to tell the fates 

Of the ships that sail to me. 
The battle-ship or cruiser, 

The children of the fleet, — 
To all that come with a welcome glum 
I'm here to trip their feet. 

Yea, I am the harbor mine, 

With the lightning in my hand, 
And I guard the ports, and hold the forts, 

When the ships above me land. 
I rock on the under-ocean, 

In the gloom of my deep salt-den. 
And I am the hell that hidden waits 
To feed on the shapes of men. 

To feed on the guns that thundered, 

To feed on the plates and bars, 
When the ship sinks down in the channel 

To me and the ghosts and stars ; 
■To feed on the smashed projectiles, 

To feed on the grim barbette, — 
All day I wait in the harbor's gate, 

All day my anchors fret. 

For I am the harbor mine, 

Whose voice is a muffled roar, 



53 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Whose song is a flash of the magnet's fire 

In the opera of war. 
And they whisper : " Don't go there, 

For he is a monster fell, 
And ships must tread upon his head 

As they would on a hidden hell." 

— F. McK. 



54 



A SOLDIER'S HEART. 



$ JJoft>ier'0 fjeart 

^VX J HE RE is the heart of a soldier, 

His thought, his hope, and his dream, 
When the rifles ring and the bullets sing, 

And the flashing sabres gleam ? 
Oh, not on the field of battle, 

But far and far away, 
His heart is living the old, old hopes, 

While his sword is red in the fray ! 

Where is the heart of a soldier, 

And what do the bugles wake, 
And what does the roar of the cannon mean 

When the hills beneath them shake ? 
Oh, not for him the glory, 

And the dash and the crash of war, 
But his heart is away on a mission gay 

Where they hear no cannon roar ! 

And there is the heart of a soldier, — 

A little home on the hill, 
A white-faced woman, a little child, 

That stands by the window-sill ; 
A little song, and a little prayer, 

And a wonder in the face, 



i 



55 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And a " God save papa, and bring him back 
In the goodness of thy grace ! " 

And there is the heart of a soldier, — 

Not on the field of fight, 
But steeped in the dream of a saddened home 

Where a window keeps its light, 
That a soldier's feet may keep the path, 

And his way may homeward lead, 
When under the flag of the freedom-land 

He has wrought the hero's deed. 

Yea, there is the heart of a soldier, 

Where wife and baby are ; 
Though his eyes and his will may follow 

The light of the battle star ; 
Though his hand may swing the sabre, 

And his bayonet charge the foe, 
The soldier's heart is away, away, 

In the home where they miss him so ! 

— Baltimore News. 



56 



THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. 



£0e JJqng of $0en anb (Jtoio. 

/^\H, they sang a song of Wind and Sail 
In the days of heave and haul, 

Of the weather-gage, of tack and sheet, 

When the anchor rose to the tramp of feet, 
And the click of the capstan pawl. 
They sang brave songs of the old broadsides, 

Long Tom, and the carronade ! 
Hi ! cutlass and pike, as the great sides strike, — 

Ho ! the cheers of the ne'er-afraid ! 
For they cheered as they fought, did those sailor- 
men; 

They stripped to the buff for the fray, — 
It was steel to steel, it was eye to eye, — 
Yard-arm to yard-arm against the sky ! 

All ye boarders, up and away ! 

They sang of the men on the quarter-deck, — 

Brave deeds of those captains bold ! 
Never a name but was known to fame, 

And was praised in the days of old. 
Let us sing the song of the fighting men, 

The sail and the plunging bow, — 
The good old song of the Sea and the Ship, 

The song of the Then and Now ! 



57 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Gone are the days of the heave and haul 

(Think ye our blood has thinned?); 
We're slaves of steam and science, 

Not toilers of the wind ! 
Oh, the cable comes in to the cable tiers, 

And no one lifts a hand ; 
The click of a bell sounds out, " That's well ! " 

And the engines understand ! 
We come in 'gainst the wind and the tide at 
night, 

And go out 'gainst the storm in the morn. 
(But think ye our arms have lost their might ? 

Think ye our locks are shorn ? ) 

Past are the days of Wind and Sail, 

We've cast off the thrall of the sea, 
We take no heed of the weather-gage, — 

No fear of the rocks on the lee. 
We can come and go in the fiercest blow 

(It is food for our roaring fires ! ), 
For the great screw churns, and the huge hull 
turns 

As the Soul of the Ship desires ! 
But the spirit, the strength, and the will are there, 

The sea has not changed her men ; 
The ship must do, and the men must dare, 

And Now is the same as Then ! 

58 



THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. 



They raked and they fought at pistol-shot, — 

We fight at two miles and more. 
(Think ye their dangers discount ours, 

Ye men of books ashore ? ) 
The turret turns and the guns are trained, — 

But not in the older way ; 
The conning-tower is the one-man power 

And the Soul of the Ship holds sway. 
But in sponson, turret, and great barbette, 

Or below in the noxious air, 
Are brave forms covered with blood and sweat, 

The fighting men are there ! 

There are dangers our father wot not of 

(In the days of wind and sail) : 
The unseen foes and the sighted Death, 

With the foam along the rail. 
The channels are filled with uncouth shapes 

That lurk below in the brine, — 
The force of fifty ships is there 

In the sullen, sunken mine ! 
Tho' no orders come from the quarter-deck, 

Hear the rip of the rapid fire ! 
Full speed ahead, astern, or check, 

At a spark from the semaphore wire ! 

And the ship she trembles from top to keel, — 
Tho' she rates twelve thousand tons ! 



59 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And her scorched decks leap with a thundering 
throb 

'Neath the roar of her twelve-inch guns ! 
Dented, and tortured, and pierced, she stands 

The blows on her ringing plates ; 
Grimy and blank she signals back 

To the flags of her fighting mates. 
Hear the grinding crash from her armored prow, 

Hear the rattling Colts from the mast? 
Young " Steel Flanks " of the living Now 

Is " Old Ironsides " of the past ! 

Oh, then here's to the men, where'er they be, — 

The men of steel and steam ! 
They're the same old stock from the parent 
block, — 

When they welcomed the wind abeam. 
Tho' one shot may equal a broadside's weight, 

One blow may decide the fight, 
They serve their guns, they aim them straight, 

And the Flag will be kept in sight ! 
The old captains bold, — cocked hats and gold, - 

Were made for their country's hour, 
And the Soul of the Ship proclaims the mould 

Of the mind in the conning-tower ! 



60 



THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. 



Let us sing the song of Wind and Sail, — 

Brave deeds of the captains bold ! 
Never a name but was known to fame, 

And was praised in the days of old. 
Let us sing the song of the armored ship, 

With the ramming, roaring bow ! 
For the Flag is the same, the men are the same, — 

'Tis the song of Then and Now ! 

— James Barnes. 



61 



THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR 



WARREN'S ADDRESS. 



Warren's ®toress. 

CTAND ! the ground's your own, my 

braves ! 
Will ye give it up to slaves ? 
Will ye look for greener graves ? 

Hope ye mercy still ? 
What's the mercy despots feel ? 
Hear it in that battle peal ! 
Read it on yon bristling steel ! 

Ask it, — ye who will. 

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? 
Will ye to your homes retire ? 
Look behind you ! — they're afire ! 

And, before you, see 
Who have done it ! From the vale 
On they come ! — and will ye quail ? 
Leaden rain and iron hail 

Let their welcome be ! 

In the God of battles trust ! 
Die we may, — and die we must ; 
But, oh, where can dust to dust 
Be consign'd so well, 

65 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



As where Heaven its dews shall shed 
On the martyr'd patriot's bed, 
And the rocks shall raise their head 
Of his deeds to tell ? 

— John Pierpont. 



66 



NATHAN HALE. 



(Itaf0an 2E)&fe» 

HPO drum-beat and heart-beat, 

A soldier marches by ; 
There is color in his cheek, 

There is courage in his eye, 
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat 

In a moment he must die. 

By starlight and moonlight, 
He seeks the Briton's camp ; 

He hears the rustling flag, 

And the armed sentry's tramp ; 

And the starlight and moonlight 
His silent wanderings lamp. 

With slow tread and still tread, 
He scans the tented line ; 

And he counts the battery guns, 
By the gaunt and shadowy pine ; 

And his slow tread and still tread 
Gives no warning sign. 

The dark wave, the plumed wave, 
It meets his eager glance ; 

And it sparkles 'neath the stars, 
Like the glimmer of a lance, — 

67 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



A dark wave, a plumed wave, 
On an emerald expanse. 

A sharp clang, a still clang, 

And terror in the sound ! 
For the sentry, falcon-eyed, 

In the camp a spy hath found ; 
With a sharp clang, a steel clang, 

The patriot is bound. 

With calm brow, and steady brow, 

He listens to his doom ; 
In his look there is no fear, 

Nor a shadow-trace of gloom ; 
But with calm brow and steady brow 

He robes him for the tomb. 

In the long night, the still night, 

He kneels upon the sod ; 
And the brutal guards withhold 

E'en the solemn word of God ! 
In the long night, the still night, 

He walks where Christ hath trod. 

'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, 

He dies upon the tree ; 
And he mourns that he can lose 

But one life for Liberty ; 

68 



NATHAN HALE. 



And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, 
His spent wings are free. 

. But his last words, his message-words, 

They burn, lest friendly eye 
Should read how proud and calm 

A patriot could die, 
With his last words, his dying words, 

A soldier's battle-cry. 

From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, 

From monument and urn, 
The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, 

His tragic fate shall learn ; 
And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf 

The name of Hale shall burn ! 

— Francis M. Finch. 



69 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e 6fb Conftnenfafe. 

T N their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old Continentals, 
Yielding not, 
When the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 
Cannon-shot ; 
When the files 
Of the isles 
From the smoky night-encampment bore the banner 
of the rampant 

Unicorn, 
And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of 
the drummer, 

Through the morn ! 

Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal 

Stood our sires ; 
And the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly 

Blazed the fires ; 

As the roar 

On the shore, 



70 



THE OLD CONTINENTALS. 



Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green 
sodded acres 

Of the plain ; 
And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun- 
powder, 

Cracking amain ! 

Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red Saint George's 

Cannoneers ; 
And the " villainous saltpetre " 
Rung a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears ; 
As the swift 
Storm drift, 
With hot, sweeping anger, came the horse-guard's 
clangor 

On our flanks, 
Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned 
fire 

Through the ranks ! 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white, infernal 

Powder cloud ; 
And his broad sword was swinging, 

7i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And his brazen throat was ringing 

Trumpet loud. 

Then the blue 

Bullets flew, 

And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the 

leaden 

Rifle breath ; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six- 
pounder 

Hurling death ! 
— Guy Hu??iphrey McMaster. 



72 



COLUMBIA. 

Cofumfiia. 

Written during the author's service as an army chaplain, 1777-78. 

/COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise, 

The queen of the world, and the child of 

the skies ; 
Thy genius commands thee ; with rapture 

behold, 
While ages on ages thy splendor unfold ! 
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time, 
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime ; 
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy 

name, 
Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame. 

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire ; 
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire ; 
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, 
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend ; 
A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws, 
Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 
On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise, 
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the 
skies. 

73 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, 
And the east see the morn hide the beams of 

her star. 
New bards, and new sages, unrivalled shall soar 
To fame unextinguished, when time is no more ; 
To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed, 
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; 
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall 

bring 
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. 

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, 
And genius and beauty in harmony blend ; 
The graces of form shall awake pure desire, 
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ; 
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners 

refined, 
And virtue's bright image, instamped on the mind, 
With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to 

glow, 
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. 

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, 
The nations admire and the ocean obey ; 
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 
And the east and the south yield their spices 
and gold. 



COLUMBIA. 



As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall 

flow, 
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow ; 
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, 
Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the 

world. 

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'er- 

spread, 
From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed, 
The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired ; 
The winds ceased to murmur ; the thunders 

expired ; 
Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along, 
And a voice as of angels enchantingly sung : 
" Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
The queen of the world, and the child of the 

skies." 

— Timothy Dwight. 



75 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



J5on£ of (gtcmon's (glen. 

/^UR band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea ; 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 
Within the dark morass. 



Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near ! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear ; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 

76 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 



And hear the tramp of thousands 
Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil ; 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and 
shout, 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads, — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'Tis life to feel the night wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp, — 

A moment, — and away 

77 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Back to the pathless forest, 
Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton 

Forever from our shore. 

— William Cullen Bryant. 



78 



HAIL, COLUMBIA. 



fgaif, Cofumfita. 

T T AIL, Columbia ! happy land ! 

Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause^ 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's causf 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won ; 
Let independence be your boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost, 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altar reach the skies. 



Firm united let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty, 
As a band of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots, rise once more, 
Defend your rights, defend your shore ; 
Let no rude foe with impious hand, 
Let no rude foe with impious hand 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize ; 

79 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



While offering peace, sincere and just, 
In Heaven we place a manly trust 
That truth and justice may prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage fail. — Cho. 

Sou»d, sound the trump of fame ! 

Let Washington's great name 

Ring thro' the world with loud applause ! 

Ring thro' the world with loud applause ! 

Let every clime to freedom dear 

Listen with a joyful ear ; 

With equal skill, with steady pow'r, 

He governs in the fearful hour 

Of horrid war, or guides with ease 

The happier time of honest peace. — Cho. 

Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve h|s country stands ! 
The rock on which the storm was beat ! 
The rock on which the storm was beat ! 
But armed in virtue, firm and true, 
His hopes are fixed on heaven and you. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
When gloom obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolved on death or liberty. — Cho. 

— Joseph Hopkinson. 

80 



WAR OF 1812 



OLD IRONSIDES. 



fyib Jronsibes. 

A Y, tear her tattered ensign down, 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar ; 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 



Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee ; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 
Should sink beneath the wave ! 

Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
And there should be her grave : 

83 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail; 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 



X 



£0e §btat Jlpcrngfeb ©anner. 

/^H, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's 
last gleaming ? 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the peril- 
ous fight 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
streaming? 
And the rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air 
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still 
there ; 
Oh, say, does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
brave ? 



Oh, say, does the Star Spangled Banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 

On the shore, dimly seen thro' the mist of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 
reposes, 
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering 
steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

85 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream ; 
'Tis the Star Spangled Banner, oh, long may it 
wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
brave. — Cho. 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, 

'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 
A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' 
pollution. 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; 
And the Star Spangled Banner in triumph doth 
wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
brave. — Cho. 



Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved home and the war's desola- 
tion; 
Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-res- 
cued land 
Praise the Power that made and preserved us a 
nation ! 

86 



THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 



Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto, " In God is our trust ! " 
And the Star Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
brave. — Cho. 

— Francis Scott Key. 



'I 
*7 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



"DRITANNIA'S gallant streamers 

Float proudly o'er the tide, 
And fairly wave Columbia's stripes, 

In battle side by side. 
And ne'er did bolder seamen meet, 

Where ocean's surges pour ; 
O'er the tide now they ride, 

While the bell'wing thunders roar, 
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, 

And the bell'wing thunders roar. 

When Yankee meets the Briton, 

Whose blood congenial flows, 
By Heav'n created to be friends, 

By fortune rendered foes ; 
Hard then must be the battle fray, 

Ere well the fight is o'er ; 
Now they ride, side by side, 

While the bell'wing thunders roar, 
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast, 

And the bell'wing thunders roar. 

Still, still, for noble England 
Bold D'Acres's streamers fly ; 



,,Y. 



YANKEE THUNDERS. 



And for Columbia, gallant Hull's 

As proudly and as high ; 
Now louder rings the battle din, 

And thick the volumes pour ; 
Still they ride, side by side, 

While the bell'wing thunders roar, 
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, 

And the bell'wing thunders roar. 

Why lulls Britannia's thunder, 

That waked the wat'ry war ? 
Why stays the gallant Guerriere, 

Whose streamers waved so fair ? 
That streamer drinks the ocean's wave, 

That warrior's fight is o'er ! 
Still they ride, side by side, 

While the bell'wing thunders roar, 
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, 

And the bell'wing thunders roar. 



Hark ! 'tis the Briton's lee gun ! 

Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled ! 
And ne'er to gallant mariners 

Did braver seamen yield. 
Proud be the sires, whose hardy boys 

Then fell to fight no more ; 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



With the brave, 'mid the wave, 
When the cannon's thunders roar, 

Their spirits then shall trim the blast, 
And swell the thunder's roar. 

Vain were the cheers of Britons, 

Their hearts did vainly swell, 
Where virtue, skill, and bravery 

With gallant Morris fell. 
That heart so well in battle tried, 

Along the Moorish shore, 
And again o'er the main, 

When Columbia's thunders roar, 
Shall prove its Yankee spirit true, 

When Columbia's thunders roar. 

Hence be our floating bulwark 

Those oaks our mountains yield ; 
'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree, — 

Then take the wat'ry field ! 
To ocean's farthest barrier then 

Your whit'ning sail shall pour ; 
Safe they'll ride o'er the tide, 

While Columbia's thunders roar, 
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast, 

And her Yankee thunders roar. 
1813. 

90 



OUR NAVY. 



S~\ N wings of glory, swift as light, 

The sound of battle came, 
The gallant Hull in glorious fight 
Has won the wreaths of fame. 

CHORUS. 

Let brave Columbia's noble band 

With hearts united rise, 
Swear to protect their native land 

Till sacred freedom dies. 

Let brave Decatur's dauntless breast 

With patriot ardor glow, 
And in the garb of vict'ry drest 

Triumphant blast the foe. — Cho. 

And Rogers with his gallant crew 

O'er the wide ocean ride, 
To prove their loyal spirits true, 

And crush old Albion's pride. — Cho. 

Then hail another Guerriere there, 
With roaring broadsides hail; 

And while the thunder rends the air 
See Briton's sons turn pale. — Cho. 

9i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



" The day is ours, my boys, huzza ! " 
The great commander cries, 

While all responsive roar huzza ! 

With pleasure-sparkling eyes. — Cho. 

Thus shall Columbia's fame be spread, 
Her heaven-born eagle soar ; 

Her deeds of glory shall be read 
When tyrants are no more. — Cho. 
1813. 



92 



THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT. 



£0e Constitution's £asf §ig0t 

A YANKEE ship and a Yankee crew — 
Constitution, where ye bound for ? 
Wherever, my lad, there's fight to be had 
Acrost the Western ocean. 

Our captain was married in Boston town 

And sailed next day to sea ; 
For all must go when the State says so ; 

Blow high, blow low, sailed we. 

" Now, what shall I bring for a bridal gift 
When my home-bound pennant flies ? 

The rarest that be on land or sea 
It shall be my lady's prize." 

" There's never a prize on sea or land 

Could bring such joy to me 
As my true love sound and homeward bound 

With a king's ship under his lee." 

The Western ocean is wide and deep, 

And wild its tempests blow, 
But bravely rides " Old Ironsides," 

A-cruising to and fro. 

93 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



We cruised to the east and we cruised to north, 

And southing far went we, 
And at last off Cape de Verd we raised 

Two frigates sailing free. 

Oh, God made man, and man made ships, 

But God makes very few 
Like him who sailed our ship that day, 

And fought her, one to two. 

He gained the weather-gage of both, 

He held them both a-lee ; 
And gun for gun, till set of sun, 

He spoke them fair and free ; 

Till the night-fog fell on spar and sail, 

And ship, and sea, and shore, 
And our only aim was the bursting flame 

And the hidden cannon's roar. 

Then a long rift in the mist showed up 

The stout Cyane, close-hauled 
To swing in our wake and our quarter rake, 

And a boasting Briton bawled : 

" Starboard and larboard, we've got him fast 
Where his heels won't take him through ; 

Let him luff or wear, he'll find us there, — 
Ho, Yankee, which will you do ? " 

94 



THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT. 



We did not luff and we did not wear, 

But braced our topsails back, 
Till the sternway drew us fair and true 

Broadsides athwart her track. 

Athwart her track and across her bows 

We raked her fore and aft, 
And out of the fight and into the night 

Drifted the beaten craft. 

The slow Levant came up too late ; 

No need had we to stir; 
Her decks we swept with fire, and kept 

The flies from troubling her. 

We raked her again, and her flag came down, 
The haughtiest flag that floats, — 

And the lime-juice dogs lay there like logs, 
With never a bark in their throats. 

With never a bark and never a bite, 

But only an oath to break, 
As we squared away for Pray a Bay 

With our prizes in our wake. 

Parole they gave and parole they broke, 
What matters the cowardly cheat, 

If the captain's bride was satisfied 
With the one prize laid at her feet ? 

95 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew — 
Constitution, where ye bound for ? 

Wherever the British prizes be, 

Though it's one to two, or one to three, — 

" Old Ironsides " means victory, 
Acrost the Western ocean. 

— James Jeffrey Roche. 



96 



THE WAR WITH MEXICO 



THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. 



£0e ©efence of f0e $famo, 

CANTA ANA came storming, as a storm might 
come ; 
There was rumble of cannon ; there was rattle of 
blade ; 
There was cavalry, infantry, bugle, and drum, — 

Full seven thousand, in pomp and parade, 
The chivalry, flower of Mexico ; 

And a gaunt two hundred in the Alamo ! 

And thirty lay sick, and some were shot through ; 
For the siege had been bitter, and bloody, and 
long. 
" Surrender, or die ! " — " Men, what will you do ? " 
And Travis, great Travis, drew sword, quick and 
strong ; 
Drew a line at his feet ..." Will you come ? Will 
you go ? 
/ die with my wounded, in the Alamo." 

The Bowie gasped, " Lead me over that line ! " 

Then Crockett, one hand to the sick, one hand to 
his gun, 

Crossed with him ; then never a word or a sign 
Till all, sick or well, all, all save but one, 

99 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



One man. Then a woman stepped, praying, and 
slow 
Across ; to die at her post in the Alamo. 

Then that one coward fled, in the night, in that night 
When all men silently prayed and thought 

Of home ; of to-morrow ; of God and the right, 
Till dawn : and with dawn came Travis's cannon- 
shot, 

In answer to insolent Mexico, 

From the old bell-tower of the Alamo. 

Then came Santa Ana; a crescent of flame ! 

Then the red " escalade ; " then the fight hand to 
hand ; 
Such an unequal fight as never had name 

Since the Persian hordes butchered that doomed 
Spartan band. 
All day, — all day and all night, and the morning ? so 
slow 
Through the battle smoke mantling the Alamo. 

Now silence ! Such silence ! Two thousand lay dead 
In a crescent outside ! And within ? Not a breath 

Save the gasp of a woman, with gory gashed head, 
All alone, all alone there, waiting for death ; 

And she but a nurse. Yet when shall we know 
Another like this of the Alamo ? 



THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. 



Shout " Victory, victory, victory ho ! " 

I say 'tis not always to the hosts that win; 

I say that the victory, high or low, 

Is given the hero who grapples with sin, 

Or legion or single ; just asking to know 
When duty fronts death in his Alamo. 

— Joaquin Miller. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(WtonfereE. 

VXfE were not many, — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 
Have with us been at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hail'd 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quail'd 
When wounded comrades round them wail'd 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stept, 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoil'd aghast, 

When, striking where the strongest lay, 
We swoop'd his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast, 
Storm'd home the towers of Monterey. 



MONTEREY. 



Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play : 
Where orange-boughs above their grave 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many, — we who press'd 

Beside the brave who fell that day, — 
But who of us has not confess'd 
He'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

— Charles Fenno Hoffman. 



103 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Q5uen& Vizta. 

T^ROM the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of 
Maine, 

Let all exult ! for we have met the enemy again ; 

Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them 
in their pride, 

And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody 
tide; 

Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Missis- 
sippi's flood, 

And the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his 
sickle red with blood. 



Santana boasted loudly that, before two hours were 

past, 
His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce 

and fast : — 
On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line ; 
Lo ! their great standards in the sun like sheets of 

silver shine : 
With thousands upon thousands, — yea, with more 

than three to one, — 
Their forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the 

sun. 



104 



BUENA VISTA. 



Lo ! Guanajuato's regiment ; Morelos's boasted corps, 

And Guadalajara's chosen troops ! — all veterans tried 
before. 

Lo! galloping upon the right four thousand lances 
gleam, 

Where, floating in the morning wind, their blood-red 
pennons stream ; 

And here his stern artillery climbs up the broad pla- 
teau : 

To-day he means to strike at us an overwhelming 
blow. 

Now, Wool, hold strongly to the heights ! for lo ! the 
mighty tide 

Comes, thundering like an avalanche, deep, terrible, 
and wide. 

Now, Illinois, stand steady ! Now, Kentucky, to 
their aid ! 

For a portion of our line, alas ! is broken and dis- 
mayed : 

Great bands of shameless fugitives are fleeing from 
the field, 

And the day is lost, if Illinois and brave Kentucky 
yield. 

One of O'Brien's guns is gone ! — On, on their masses 

drift, 
Till their cavalry and infantry outflank us on the left ; 

!°5 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Our light troops, driven from the hills, retreat in wild 
dismay, 

And round us gather, thick and dark, the Mexican 
array. 

Santana thinks the day is gained ; for, now approach- 
ing near, 

Miiion's dark cloud of Lancers sternly menaces our 
rear. 

Now, Lincoln, gallant gentleman, lies dead upon the 

field, 
Who strove to stay those cravens, when before the 

storm they reeled. 
Fire, Washington, fire fast and true ! Fire, Sherman, 

fast and far ! 
Lo ! Bragg comes thundering to the front, to breast 

the adverse war ! 
Santana thinks the day is gained ! On, on his masses 

crowd, 
And the roar of battle swells again more terrible and 

loud. 

Not yet ! Our brave old general comes to regain the 

day ; 
Kentucky, to the rescue ! Mississippi, to the fray ! 
Again our line advances ! Gallant Davis fronts the 

foe, 

106 



BUENA VISTA. 



And back before his rifles, in red waves, the Lancers 
flow. 

Upon them yet once more, ye brave ! The avalanche 
is stayed ! 

Back roll the Aztec multitudes, all broken and dis- 
mayed. 

Ride, May ! — To Buena Vista ! for the Lancers gain 
our rear, 

And we have few troops there to check their vehe- 
ment career. 

Charge, Arkansas ! Kentucky, charge ! Yell, Porter, 
Vaughan, are slain, 

But the shattered troops cling desperately unto that 
crimsoned plain ; 

Till, with the Lancers intermixed, pursuing and pur- 
sued, 

Westward, in combat hot and close, drifts off the 
multitude. 

And May comes charging from the hills with his 
ranks of flaming steel, 

While shattered with a sudden fire, the foe already 
reel : 

They flee amain ! — Now to the left, to stay the tor- 
rent there, 

Or else the day is surely lost, in horror and despair ! 

107 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



For their hosts pour swiftly onward, like a river in 

the spring, 
Our flank is turned, and on our left their cannon 

thundering. 

Now, good Artillery ! bold Dragoons ! Steady, brave 

hearts, be calm ! 
Through rain, cold hail, and thunder, now nerve each 

gallant arm ! 
What though their shot fall round us here, yet thicker 

than the hail ? 
We'll stand against them, as the rock stands firm 

against the gale. 
Lo ! their battery is silenced ! but our iron sleet still 

showers : 
They falter, halt, retreat ! — Hurrah ! the glorious day 

is ours ! 



In front, too, has the fight gone well, where upon gal- 
lant Lane, 

And on stout Mississippi, the thick Lancers charged 
in vain : 

Ah ! brave Third Indiana ! you have nobly wiped 
away 

The reproach that through another corps befell your 
State to-day ; 

1 08 



BUENA VISTA. 



For back, all broken and dismayed, before your storm 

of fire, 
Santana's boasted chivalry, a shattered wreck, retire. 

Now charge again, Santana ! or the day is surely 

lost, — 
For back, like broken waves, along our left your 

hordes are tossed. 
Still faster roar his batteries, — his whole reserve 

.moves on; 
More work remains for us to do, ere the good fight is 

won. 
Now for your wives and children, men ! Stand steady 

yet once more ! 
Fight for your lives and honors ! Fight as you never 

fought before ! 

Ho ! Hardin breasts it bravely ! and heroic Bissell 
there 

Stands firm before the storm of balls that fill the as- 
tonished air : 

The Lancers dash upon them, too ! The foe swarm 
ten to one : 

Hardin is slain; McKee and Clay the last time see 
the sun ; 

And many another gallant heart, in that last desper- 
ate fray, 

109 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Grew cold, its last thought turning to its loved ones 
far away. 

Speed, speed, Artillery ! to the front ! — for the hurri- 
cane of fire 

Crushes those noble regiments, reluctant to retire ! 

Speed swiftly ! Gallop ! Ah ! they come ! Again 
Bragg climbs the ridge, 

And his grape sweeps down the swarming foe, as a 
strong man moweth sedge ; 

Thus baffled in their last attack, compelled perforce 
to yield, 

Still menacing in firm array, their columns leave the 
field. 

The guns still roared at intervals ; but silence fell at 
last, 

And on the dead and dying came the evening shad- 
ows fast. 

And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's 
silver shield, 

And patiently and pitying she looked upon the field. 

While careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his 
dead, 

Despairingly and sullenly by night Santana fled. 

And thus on Buena Vista's heights a long day's work 
was done, 



BUENA VISTA. 



And thus our brave old general another battle won. 
Still, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by 

flight or shame, 
And the Mexicans among their hills still tremble at 

our name. 
So, honor unto those that stood ! Disgrace to those 

that fled ! 
And everlasting glory unto Buena Vista's dead ! 

— Albert Pike. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e QBifcouac of *0e ©eab. 

'THE muffled drum's sad roll lias beat 

The soldier's last tattoo ! 
No more on life's parade shall meet 

That brave and fallen few. 
On Fame's eternal carnping-ground 

Their silent tents are spread ; 
And Glory guards, with solemn round, 

The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now swells upon the wind ; 
No troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved ones left behind ; 
No vision of the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarms, 
No braying horn, or screaming fife 

At dawn shall call to arms. 

Their shivered swords are red with rust, 
Their plumed heads are bowed ; 

Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, 
Is now their martial shroud ; 

And plenteous funeral tears have washed 
The red stains from each brow ; 



THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 



And the proud forms, by battle gashed, 
Are free from anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the flashing blade, 

The bugle's stirring blast, 
The charge, the dreadful cannonade, 

The din and shout, are passed ; 
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal, 

Shall thrill with fierce delight 
Those breasts that nevermore may feel 

The rapture of the fight. 

Like the fierce Northern hurricane 

That sweeps his great plateau, 
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain 

Came down the serried foe. 
Who heard the thunder of the fray 

Break o'er the field beneath, 
Knew well the watchword of that day 

Was "Victory or death." 

Full many a norther's breath has swept 

O'er Angostura's plain, 
And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above its mouldered slain. 
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, 

Or shepherd's pensive lay, 

"3 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Alone awakes each sullen height 
That frowned o'er that dark fray. 

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, 

Ye must not slumber there, 
Where stranger steps and tongues resound, 

Along the heedless air ; 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall be your fitter grave ; 
She claims from war his richest spoil, 

The ashes of her brave. 

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, 

Far from the gory field, 
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast 

On many a bloody shield. 
The sunshine of their native sky 

Smiles sadly on them here, 
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by 

The heroes' sepulchre. 

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead ! 

Dear as the blood ye gave, 
No impious footstep here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave. 
Nor shall your story be forgot 

While Fame her record keeps, 



THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 



Or Honor points the hallowed spot 
Where Valor proudly sleeps. 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone 

In deathless song shall tell, 
When many a vanished age hath flown, 

The story how ye fell ; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, 

Nor time's remorseless doom, 
Shall dim one ray of glory's light 

That gilds your deathless tomb. 

— Theodore O'Hara. 



"5 



THE CIVIL WAR 



BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT. 



{gtotfytt jjonafflan's £amenf for Jtefor 
Carofine. 

Written in December, i860, when South Carolina adopted the Ordi- 
nance of Secession. 

CHE has gone, — she has left us in passion and 

pride, — 
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side ! 
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow, 
And turned on her brother the face of a foe ! 

O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 
We can never forget that our hearts have been one, — 
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name, 
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame ! 

You were always too ready to fire at a touch ; 

But we said : " She's a beauty, — she does not mean 
much." 

We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent 
threat ; 

But Friendship still whispered : " Forgive and for- 
get." 

Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown 
cold? 



119 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Has the curse come at last which the fathers fore- 
told? 
Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain 
That her petulant children would sever in vain. 

They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their 

spoil, 
Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil, 
Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their 

caves, 
And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the 

waves : 

In vain is the strife ! When its fury is past, 
Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, 
As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow 
Roll mingled in peace in the valleys below. 

Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky ; 

Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die! 

Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with 

steel, 
The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal ! 

O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 
There are battles with fate that can never be won ! 
The star-flowering banner must never be furled, 
For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world ! 



BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT. 

Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof, — 

Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof ; 

But when your heart aches, and your feet have 

grown sore, 
Remember the pathway that leads to our door ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(glen of f$e Qtotf anb TOesl 

Published in the World after the fall of Fort Sumter. 

TV/TEN of the North and West, 

Wake in your might. 
Prepare, as the rebels have done, 

For the fight ! 
You cannot shrink from the test ; 
Rise ! Men of the North and West ! 



They have torn down your banner of stars ; 

They have trampled the laws ; 
They have stifled the freedom they hate, 

For no cause ! 
Do you love it or slavery best ? 
Speak ! Men of the North and West ! 

They strike at the life of the State : 

Shall th$ murder be done? 
They cry : " We are two ! " And you ? 

" We are one ! " 
You must meet them, then, breast to breast ; 
On ! Men of the North and West ! 



MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST. 

Not with words ; they laugh them to scorn, 

And tears they despise ; 
But with swords in your hands, and death 

In your eyes ! 
Strike home ! leave to God all the rest ; 
Strike ! Men of the North and West ! 

— Richard Henry Stoddard. 



123 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Qto (gtore Wafts. 



N ( 



C O more words ; 

Try it with your swords ! 
Try it with the arms of your bravest and your 

best! 
You are proud of your manhood, now put it to 
the test ; 

Not another word ; 
Try it by the sword ! 

No more notes ; 
Try it by the throats 
Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and 

air be shaken ; 
For they speak what they mean, and they can- 
not be mistaken ; 
No more doubt ; 
Come, — fight it out ! 

No child's play ! 

Waste not a day ; 
Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know ; 
Let them pitilessly hail on the faces of the foe ; 

No blind strife ; 

Waste not one life. 

124 



NO MORE WORDS. 



You that in the front 
Bear the battle's brunt — 
When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets 

abreast, 
Remember 'tis for government and country you 
contest ; 

For love of all you guard, 
Stand, and strike hard ! 

You at home that stay 
From danger far away, 
Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in 

quiet ease ; 
Quick ! forge the bolts of death ^ quick ! ship 
them o'er the seas ; 

If War's feet are lame, 
Yours will be the blame. 

You, my lads, abroad, 
" Steady ! " be your word ; 
You, at home, be the anchor of your soldiers 

young and brave ; 
Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen 
or may save ; 

Sloth were sin and shame ; 
Now play out the game ! 

— Franklin Lushington. 

125 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e Ztooptzfyip Jiaifs, 

T T is good-by, 

1 My lad? 

No, I'll not cry. 

Has the time come ? 

The bugle-call from the sea-wall, 

The tap of drum ? 

My tears are dry. 

Rest your head here, 

My lad, 
Close to me, dear ; 
Why do you stare ? 

Have pain and care made me less fair ? 
Are my lips white with fear ? 
Hark ! how they cheer 
Down in the Square there ! 

What do they care, 
My lad, 
For this brown hair 
That I love so ? 
Their drums' long roll will crush my 

soul — 
Ah, God ! don't go ! — 
I cannot bear — 

126 



THE TROOP -SHIP SAILS. 

There, I'll be still, 

My lad, 
Truly I will ; 
My tears are spent. 
Which regiment will next be sent? 
Does every bullet kill ? 
Hold me until 
The call is urgent ! 

Who spoke your name, 

My lad? 
The summons came 
Out of the crowd ! 
Oh, hold me, lad ! fold me, lad ! 
Their flag's a shroud 
To bury shame ! 

Have they begun, 

My lad ? 
See, the troops run ! 
Your eyes are wet ; 
You are so quiet; is there time yet? 
God ! it's the signal gun ! 
Kiss me, — just one. 
Run with your musket ! 

— R. W. Cha7nbers. 



127 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e JJfripes atib *0e §btatB. 

r\ STAR-SPANGLED banner ! the flag of our 

pride ! 
Though traftipled by traitors and basely defied, 
Fling out to the glad winds your red, white, and blue, 
For the heart of the Northland is beating for you ! 
AnH her strong arm is nerving to strike with a will, 
Till the fee and his boastings are humbled and still ! 
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the 

Stars ! 

From prairie, O ploughman ! speed boldly away, — 
There's seed to be sown in God's furrows to-day ! 
Row landward, lone fisher! stout woodman, come 

home ! 
Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom, 
And hamlet and city ring loud with the cry : 
" For God and our country we'll fight till we die ! 
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the 

Stars ! " 

Invincible banner ! the flag of the free, 

Oh, where treads the foot that would falter for thee ? 



THE STRIPES AND THE STARS. 



Or the hands to be folded, till triumph is won 
And the eagle looks proud, as of old, to the sun ? 
Give tears for the parting — a murmur of prayer — 
Then forward ! the fame of our standard to share ! 
With welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the 
Stars ! 

O God of our fathers ! this banner must shine 
Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine ! 
The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown — 
We fear not the summons — we fight not alone ! 
Oh, lead us, till wide from the gulf to the sea 
The land shall be sacred to freedom and thee ! 
With love for oppression ; with blessing for scars — 
One country — one banner — the Stripes and the 
Stars ! 

— Edna Dean Proctor. 



129 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



JJpring at tyt Capifaf. 

T'HE poplar drops beside the way- 
Its tasselled plumes of silver gray ; 
The chestnut points its great brown buds, impatient 
for the laggard May. 

The honeysuckles lace the wall ; 
The hyacinths grow fair and tall ; 
And mellow sun, and pleasant wind, and odorous 
bees are over all. 

Down-looking in this snow-white bud, 
How distant seems the war's red flood ! 
How far remote the streaming wounds, the sickening 
scent of human blood ! 

For Nature does not recognize 
This strife that rends the earth and skies ; 
No war-dreams vex the winter's sleep of clover-heads 
and daisy-eyes. 

She holds her even way the same, 
Though navies sink, or cities flame ; 
A snowdrop is a snowdrop still, despite the Nation's 
joy or shame. 

130 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 



When blood her grassy altar wets, 
She sends the pitying violets 
To heal the outrage with their bloom, and cover it 
with soft regrets. 

O crocuses with rain-wet eyes, 
O tender-lipped anemones, 
What do you know of agony, and death, and blood- 
won victories ? 

No shudder breaks your sunshine trance, 
Though near you rolls, with slow advance, 
Clouding your shining leaves with dust, the anguish- 
laden ambulance. 



Yonder a white encampment hums ; 
The clash of martial music comes ; 



And now your startled stems are all a-tremble with 
the jar of drums. 

Whether it lessen or increase, 
Or whether trumpets shout or cease, 
Still, deep within your tranquil hearts, the happy bees 
are humming, " Peace ! " 

O flowers ! the soul that faints or grieves 
New comfort from your lips receives ; 
Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in your 
healing leaves. 

J3 1 



TOEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Help us to trust still on and on, 
That this dark night will soon be gone, 
And that these battle-stains are but the blood-red 
trouble of the dawn, — 

Dawn of a broader, whiter day 
Than ever blessed us with its ray, — 
A dawn beneath whose purer light all guilt and 
wrong shall fade away. 

Then shall our Nation break its bands, 
And, silencing the envious lands, 
Stand in the searching light unshamed, with spotless 
robe, and clean, white hands. 

— Elizabeth Akers Allen. 



ROLL - CALL. 



« /^ORPORAL GREEN ! " the orderly cried. 
" Here ! " was the answer, loud and clear, 
From the lips of the soldier who stood near ; 
And " Here ! " was the word the next replied. 

" Cyrus Drew ! " — then a silence fell, — 
This time no answer followed the call ; 
Only his rear man had seen him fall, 

Killed or wounded, he could not tell. 

There they stood in the failing light, 

These men of battle with grave, dark looks, 
As plain to be read as open books, 

While slowly gathered the shades of night. 

The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, 
And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, 
Were redder stains than the poppies knew ; 

And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. 

For the foe had crossed from the other side 
That day, in the face of a murderous fire 
That swept them down in its terrible ire, 

And their life-blood went to color the tide. 



133 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



" Herbert Kline ! " At the call there came 
Two stalwart soldiers into the line, 
Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, 

Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. 

" Ezra Kerr ! " — and a voice answered, " Here ! ' 
" Hiram Kerr ! " — but no man replied. 
They were brothers, these two ; the sad wind 
sighed, 

And a shudder crept through the corn-field near. 

" Ephraim Deane ! " — then a soldier spoke : 
" Deane carried our regiment colors," he said ; 
" Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead, 

Just after the enemy wavered and broke. 

" Close to the roadside his body lies ; 

I paused a moment and gave him drink ; 

He murmured his mother's name, I think, 
And Death came with it, and closed his eyes." 

'Twas a victory, yes, but it cost us dear, — 
For that company's roll, when called at night, 
Of a hundred men who went into the fight, 

Numbered but twenty that answered, " Here ! " 
— Nathaniel G. Shepherd. 



J 34 



THE REVEILLE. 



Z$t (ge&eiffe. 

T T ARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, 

And of armed men the hum ; 
Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered 
Round the quick-alarming drum 
Saying, " Come, 
Freemen, come ! 
Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick-alarm- 
ing drum. 

" Let me of my heart take counsel : 

War is not of life the sum ; 
Who shall stay and reap the harvest 
When the autumn days shall come ? " 
But the drum 
Echoed, " Come ! 
Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the sol- 
emn-sounding drum. 

" But when won the coming battle, 

What of profit springs therefrom ? 
What if conquest, subjugation, 
Even greater ills become ? 
But the drum 
Answered, " Come ! 

*35 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee- 
answering drum. 

" What if, 'mid the cannon's thunder, 
Whistling shot, and bursting bomb, 
When my brothers fall around me, 

Should my heart grow cold and numb ? " 
But the drum 
Answered, " Come ! 
Better there in death united, than in life a recreant 
— Come ! " 

Thus they answered, — hoping, fearing, 
Some in faith, and doubting some, — 
Till a trumpet-voice, proclaiming, 
Said, " My chosen people, come ! " 
Then the drum, 
Lo ! was dumb ; 
For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, an- 
swered, " Lord, we come ! " 

— Bret Harte. 



136 



THE CUMBERLAND. 



£0e Cumfierfanb. 

A T anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 

On board of the Cumberla?id sloop-of-war ; 
And at times from the fortress across the bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bugle-blast 
From the camp on the shore. 

Then far away to the south uprose 

A little feather of snow-white smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her straight 

Defiance back in a full broadside ! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 



137 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

" Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, 
In his arrogant old plantation strain. 

" Never ! " our gallant Morris replies : 
" It is better to sink than to yield ! " 

And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 

Then like a kraken huge and black, 

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! 
Down went the Cumberland all awrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, 

Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. 
Lord, how beautiful was thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas ! 

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. 
Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these, 

138 



THE CUMBERLAND. 

Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



139 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e QS&nnet of *0e Jifars. 

T T URRAH ! boys, hurrah ! fling our banner to the 
breeze ! 
Let the enemies of freedom see its folds again 
unfurled. 
And down with the pirates that scorn upon the seas 
Our victorious Yankee banner, sign of Freedom 
to the World! 



We'll never have a new flag, for ours is the true flag, 
The true flag, the true flag, the Red, White, and 

Blue flag. 
Hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! we will carry to the wars 
The old flag, the free flag, the Banner of the Stars. 

And what tho' its white shall be crimsoned with our 

blood ? 
And what tho' its stripes shall be shredded in the 

storms ? 
To the torn flag, the worn flag, we'll keep our promise 



And we'll bear the starry blue field, with gallant 
hearts and arms. — Cho. 



THE BANNER OF THE STARS. 



Then, cursed be he who would strike our Starry 
Flag! 
May the God of Hosts be with us, as we smite the 
traitor down ! 
And cursed be he who would hesitate or lag 

Till the dear flag, the fair flag, with Victory we 
crown. — Cho. 

— R. W. Raymond, 



141 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



TB0en Zfyix Ctuef Wat 3s <&&er. 

T^vEAREST love, do you remember 

When we last did meet, 
How you told me that you loved me 

Kneeling at my feet ? 
Oh, how proud you stood before me 

In your suit of blue, 
When you vowed to me and country 

Ever to be true. 

CHORUS. 

Weeping sad and lonely, 
Hopes and fears how vain ! 
Yet praying, 

When this cruel war is over, 
Praying that we meet again. 

When the summer breeze is sighing 

Mournfully along, 
Or when autumn leaves are falling, 

Sadly breathes the song. 
Oft in dreams I see thee lying 

On the battle plain, 
Lonely, wounded, even dying, 

Calling, but in vain. — Cho. 

142 



WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER. 

If, amid the din of battle, 

Nobly you should fall, 
Far away from those who love you, 

None to hear you call, 
Who would whisper words of comfort, 

Who would soothe your pain ? 
Ah, the many cruel fancies 

Ever in my brain ! — Cho. 

But our country called you, darling, 

Angels cheer your way ! 
While our nation's sons are fighting, 

We can only pray. 
Nobly strike for God and country, 

Let all nations see 
How we love the starry banner, 

Emblem of the free. — Cho. 

— Charles Carroll Sawyer. 



i43 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£t amp, £tkmp f Ztkmp. 

T N the prison cell I sit, 

Thinking, mother dear, of you, 
And our bright and happy home so far away, 

And the tears they fill my eyes, 

Spite of all that I can do, 
Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay. 



Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, 
Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come, 

And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air 
again, 
Of freedom in our own beloved home. 

In the battle front we stood 

When the fiercest charge they made, 
And they swept us off a hundred men or more, 

But before we reached their lines 

They were beaten back dismayed, 
And we heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and o'er. — Cho. 

So, within the prison cell, 
We are waiting for the day 

144 



TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP. 



That shall come to open wide the iron door, 
And the hollow eye grows bright, 
And the poor heart almost gay, 
As we think of seeing friends and home once more. 

— Cho. 
— George F. Root. 



145 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



HHHE army is gathering from near and from far ; 
The trumpet is sounding the call for the war ; 
McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong ; 
We'll gird on our armor and be marching along. 



Marching along, we are marching along, 
Gird on the armor and be marching along ; 
McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong ; 
For God and our country we are marching along. 



The foe is before us in battle array, 

But let us not waver, or turn from the way ; 

The Lord is our strength, and the Union's our song; 

With courage and faith we are marching along. 

— Cho. 

Our wives and our children we leave in your care, 
We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear ; 
'Tis hard thus to part, but we hope 'twon't be long ; 
We'll keep up our heart as we're marching along. 

— Cho. 

146 



MARCHING ALONG. 



We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead ; 
For them now our last drop of blood we will shed ; 
Our cause is the right one, — our foe's in the wrong ; 
Then gladly we'll sing as we're marching along. 

— Cho. 

The flag of our country is floating on high ; 
We'll stand by that flag till we conquer or die ; 
McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong; 
We'll gird on our armor and be marching along. 

— Cho. 
— William B. Bradbury. 



147 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



T)Y the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron had fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead, — 
Under the sod and the dew ; 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the one, the Blue ; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat ; 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet, — 
Under the sod and the dew ; 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe ; 
Under the sod and the dew ; 
Waiting the judgment day ; 

148 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all, — 
Under the sod and the dew ; 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth 

On forest, and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; 

Under the sod and the dew ; 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 
In the storm of the years now fading 
No braver battle was won ; 

Under the sod and the dew ; 
Waiting the judgment day; 

149 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever, 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
Under the sod and the dew ; 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue ; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

— Francis M. Finch. 



150 



THE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS. 



Zfye ^maffe0f of *0e ©rums. 

VXTHEN the opulence of summer unto wood and 
meadow comes, 
And within the tangled graveyard riot old-time 
spice and bloom, 
Then dear Nature brings her tribute to the " smallest 
of the drums," 
Spreads the sweetest of her blossoms on the little 
soldier's tomb. 

In the quiet country village, still they tell you how 
he died ; 
And the story moves you strangely, more than 
other tales of war. 
Thrice heroic seems the hero, if he be a child 
beside, 
And the wound that tears his bosom is more sad 
than others far. 

In the ranks of Sherman's army none so young and 
small as he, 
With his face so soft and dimpled, and his inno- 
cent blue eyes. 

Yet of all the Union drummers he could drum most 
skilfully, 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



With a spirit — said his colonel — fit to make the 
dead arise ! 

In the charge at Chickamauga (so, beside his little 
grave, 
You may learn the hero's story of some villager, 
perchance), 
When his regiment sank, broken, from the rampart, 
like a wave, 
Thrice the clangor of his drum-beat rallied to a 
fresh advance. 

There he stood upon the hillside, capless, with his 
shining hair 
Blown about his childish forehead like the bright 
silk of the corn ; 
And the men looked up, and saw him standing brave 
and scathless there, 
As an angel on a hilltop, in the drifting mist of 
morn. 

Thrice they rallied at his drum - beat, — then the 
tattered flag went down! 
Some one caught it, waved it skyward for a mo- 
ment, and then fell. 
In the dust, and gore, and drabble, all the stars of 
freedom's crown, 
And the soldiers beaten backward from the em- 
blem loved so well! 

152 



THE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS. 



Then our drummer-boy, our hero, from his neck the 
drum-cord flung, 
And amid the hail of bullets to the fallen banner 
sped. 
Quick he raised it from dishonor ; quick before 
them all he sprung, 
And in fearless, proud defiance, waved the old flag 
o'er his head ! 

For a minute's space the cheering, louder than the 
singing balls, 
And the soldiers pressing forward, closing up their 
broken line, 
Then the child's bright head, death-stricken, on his 
throbbing bosom falls, 
And the brave eyes that God lighted cease with 
life and soul to shine. 

In the flag he saved they wrapped him ; in that 
starry shroud he lies, 
And the roses, and the lilacs, and the daisies seem 
to know ; 
For in all that peaceful acre, sleeping 'neath the 
summer skies, 
There is neither mound nor tablet that is wreathed 
and guarded so ! 

— James Buckham. 



153 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(Jteencm's Charge. 

HP HE sun had set; 

The leaves with dew were wet, — 
Down fell a bloody dusk 

Where Stonewall's corps, like a beast of prey, 
Tore through with angry tusk. 

" They've trapped us, boys ! " 
Rose from our flank a voice. 
With a rush of steel and smoke 
On came the rebels straight, 
Eager as love, and wild as hate ; 
And our line reeled and broke ; 

Broke and fled. 

Not one stayed, — but the dead ! 

With curses, shrieks, and cries, 

Horses, and wagons, and men, 

Tumbled back through the shuddering glen, 

And above us the fading skies. 

There's some hope, still, — 
Those batteries parked on the hill ! 
" Battery, wheel " ('mid the roar), 

154 



KEENAN'S CHARGE. 



" Pass pieces ; fix prolonge to fire 
Retiring. Trot ! " In the panic dire 
A bugle rings " Trot ! " — and no moreo 

The horses plunged, 

The cannon lurched and lunged, 

To join the hopeless rout. 

But suddenly rose a form 

Calmly in front of the human storm. 

With a stern, commanding shout : 

" Align those guns ! " 

(We knew it was Pleasanton's.) 

The cannoneers bent to obey, 

And worked with a will at his word, 

And the black guns moved as if they had heard. 

But, ah, the dread delay ! 

" To wait is crime ; 
O God, for ten minutes' time ! " 
The general looked around. 
There Keenan sat, like a stone, 
With his three hundred horse alone, 
Less shaken than the ground. 

" Major, your men ? " 

" Are soldiers, general." " Then, 

Charge, major ! Do your best ; 

155 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Hold the enemy back, at all cost, 

Till my guns are placed ; — else the army is 

lost. 
You die to save the rest ! " 

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies 
Brave Keenan looked into Pleasanton's eyes 
For an instant, — clear, and cool, and still ; 
Then, with a smile, he said : " I will." 

" Cavalry, charge ! " Not a man of them 

shrank. 
Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, 
Rose joyously, with a willing breath, — 
Rose like a greeting hail to death. 

Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and 

clashed ; 
Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; 
Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, 
In their faded coats of the blue and yellow ; 
And above in the air, with an instinct true, 
Like a bird of war their pennon flew. 

With clank of scabbard, and thunder of 

steeds, 
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds, 

156 



KEENAN'S CHARGE. 



And strong brown faces bravely pale 
For fear their proud attempt shall fail, 
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close 
On twice ten thousand gallant foes. 

Line after line the troopers came 

To the edge of the wood that was ringed 

with flame ; 
Rode in, and sabred, and shot, — and fell ; 
Nor came one back his wounds to tell. 
And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall, 
In the gloom like a martyr awaiting his fall, 
While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 
'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous 

hung. 

Line after line, ay, whole platoons, 
Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dra- 
goons, 
By the maddened horses were onward borne, 
And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn ; 
As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. 
So they rode, till there were no more to ride. 

And over them, lying there shattered and 

mute, 
What deep echo rolls ? — 'Tis a death-salute 

157 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



From the cannon in place ; for, heroes, you 

braved 
Your fate not in vain ; the army was saved ! 

Over them now, — year following year, — 
Over their graves the pine cones fall, 
And the whippoorwill chants his spectre call ; 
But they stir not again, they raise no cheer ; 
They have ceased. But their glory shall 

never cease, 
Nor their light be quenched in the light of 

peace. 
The rush of their charge is resounding still 
That saved the army at Chancellorsville. 

— George Parsons Lathrop. 



158 



MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA. 



(Utaire0ing £$xquq§ (Beorgta. 

"DRING the good old bugle, boys ! we'll sing an 

other song, — 
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along, — 
Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 



Hurrah, hurrah ! we bring the jubilee ! 
Hurrah, hurrah ! the flag that makes you free ! 
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 

How the darkies shouted when they heard the joyful 

sound ! 
How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary 

found ! 
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground, 
While we were marching through Georgia ! — Cho. 

Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful 

tears 
When they saw the honor'd flag they had not seen 

for years; 

159 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth 

in cheers 
While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. 

" Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never reach 

the coast ! " 
So the saucy rebels said, — and t'was a handsome 

boast. 
Had they not forgot, alas ! to reckon on a host, 
While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. 

So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her 

train, 
Sixty miles in latitude, three hundred to the main ; 
Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain, 
While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. 



i 60 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN. 

<& Captain I (ttt£ Captain! 

On the Death of Lincoln. 

f~\ Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, 
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we 

sought is won, 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all 

exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 

and daring; 

But, O heart ! heart ! heart ! 

Oh, the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 
Rise up, — for you the flag is flung, — for you the 

bugle trills, 
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths, — for you 

the shores a-crowding, 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 

turning ; 

Here, Captain ! dear father ! 
This arm beneath your head ! 

i6i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



It is some dream that on the deck 
You've fallen cold and dead. 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 

still ; 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 

will ; 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed 

and done, 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 

won; 

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! 

But I, with mournful tread, 
Walk the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

— Walt Whitman. 



1 6? 



BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 



{gafttt ffemn of *0e (Repufific, 

TV/TINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming 

of the Lord; 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes 

of wrath are stored; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible 

swift sword; 

His truth is marching on. 



Glory ! Glory Hallelujah ! 
Glory! Glory Hallelujah! 
Glory ! Glory Hallelujah ! 
His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred 

circling camps ; 
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps ; 
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps ; 

His day is marching on. — Cho. 

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of 
steel : 

163 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my 

grace shall deal." 
Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with 

his heel, 

Since God is marching on. — Cho. 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never 
call retreat ; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg- 
ment seat ; 

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him ; be jubilant, 
my feet ; 

Our God is marching on. — Cho. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

sea, 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and 

me ; 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make 
men free, 

While God is marching on. — Cho. 

— Julia Ward Howe. 



164 



LYON. 



££on. 

Q ING, bird, on green Missouri's plain, 

Thy saddest song of sorrow ; 
Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain 

Ye from the winds can borrow ; 
Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh, 

Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor, 
For him who knew well how to die, 

But never to surrender ! 

Up rose serene the August sun 

Upon that day of glory ; 
Up curled from musket and from gun 

The war-cloud gray and hoary. 
It gathered like a funeral pall 

Now broken and now blended, 
Where rang the bugle's angry call, 

And rank with rank contended. 

Four thousand men, as brave and true 

As e'er went forth in daring, 
Upon the foe that morning threw 

The strength of their despairing. 
They feared not death, — men bless the field 

That patriot soldiers die on, — 

165 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Fair Freedom's cause was sword and shield, 
And at their head was Lyon ! 

The leader's troubled soul looked forth 

From eyes of troubled brightness ; 
Sad soul ! the burden of the North 

Had pressed out all its lightness. 
He gazed upon the unequal fight, 

His ranks all rent and gory, 
And felt the shadows close like night 

Round his career of glory. 

" General, come lead us ! " loud the cry 

From a brave band was ringing, — 
" Lead us, and we will stop, or die, 

That battery's awful singing." 
He spurred to where his heroes stood, 

Twice wounded, — no wound knowing, — 
The fire of battle in his blood 

And on his forehead glowing. 

Oh, cursed for aye that traitor's hand, 
And cursed that aim so deadly, 

Which smote the bravest of the land, 
And dyed his bosom redly ! 

Serene he lay, while past him prest 
The battle's furious billow, 

1 66 



As calmly as a babe may rest 
Upon its mother's pillow. 

So Lyon died ! and well may flowers 

His place of burial cover, 
For never had this land of ours 

A more devoted lover. 
Living, his country was his pride, 

His life he gave her, dying ; 
Life, fortune, love, — he naught denied 

To her and to her sighing. 

Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave, 

Beside her form who bore thee ! 
Long may the land thou diedst to save 

Her bannered stars wave o'er thee ! 
Upon her history's brightest page, 

And on Fame's glowing portal, 
She'll write thy grand, heroic rage 

And grave thy name immortal. 

— Henry Peterson. 



167 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e Smice ^0ot 

" T3 IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot, 

Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette ; 
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot 

That shines on his breast like an amulet ! " 

" Ah, captain ! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, 
There's music around when my barrel's in tune ! " 

Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped, 

And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. 

" Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and 
snatch 
From your victim some trinket to handsel first 
blood ; 
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch 

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud ! " 

" Oh, captain ! I staggered and sunk on my track, 
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, 

For he looked so like you, as he lay on his baek, 
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. 

" But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold ; 
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, 

168 



THE FANCY SHOT. 



Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, 
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." 

" Ha ! rifleman, fling me the locket ! — 'tis she, 

My brother's young bride, — and the fallen dragoon 

Was her husband — Hush ! soldier, 'twas Heaven's 
decree, 
We must bury him there, by the light of the moon ! 

" But hark ! the far bugles their warnings unite ; 

War is a virtue, weakness a sin ; 
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night ; — 

Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in ! " 

— Charles Dawson Shanly. 



169 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



3n f0e gosjrifaf. 

T LAY me down to sleep, 

With little thought or care 
Whether my waking find 
Me here or there. 

A bowing, burdened head, 
That only asks to rest, 
Unquestioning, upon 
A loving breast. 

My good right hand forgets 
Its cunning now. 
To march the weary march 
I know not how. 

I am not eager, bold, 
Nor strong, — all that is past ; 
I am ready not to do 
At last, at last. 

My half day's work is done, 
And this is all my part ; 
I give a patient God 
My patient heart, 

170 



IN THE HOSPITAL. 

And grasp his banner still, 
Though all its blue be dim ; 
These stripes, no less than stars, 
Lead after him. 

— M. W. Howland. 



171 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



TpARRAGUT, Farragut, 
r Old Heart of Oak, 
Daring Dave Farragut, 

Thunderbolt stroke, 
Watches the hoary mist 

Lift from the bay, 
Till his flag, glory-kissed, 

Greets the young day. 

Far, by gray Morgan's walls, 

Looms the black fleet. 
Hark, deck to rampart calls 

With the drums' beat ! 
Buoy your chains overboard, 

While the steam hums ; 
Men ! to the battlement, 

Farragut comes. 

See, as the hurricane 

Hurtles in wrath 
Squadrons of clouds amain 

Back from its path ! 
Back to the parapet, 

To the guns' lips, 

172 



FARRAGUT. 



Thunderbolt Farragut 
Hurls the black ships. 

Now through the battle's roar 

Clear the boy sings, 
" By the mark fathoms four s " 

While his lead swings. 
Steady the wheelmen five 

" Nor' by east keep her," 
" Steady," but two alive : 

How the shells sweep her! 

Lashed to the mast that sways 

Over red decks, 
Over the flame that plays 

Round the torn wrecks, 
Over the dying lips 

Framed for a cheer, 
Farragut leads his ships, 

Guides the line clear. 

On by heights cannon-browed, 
While the spars quiver ; 

Onward still flames the cloud 
Where the hulks shiver. 

See, yon fort's star is set, 
Storm and fire past. 

m 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Cheer him, lads, — Farragut, 
Lashed to the mast ! 

Oh ! while Atlantic's breast 

Bears a white sail, 
While the Gulf's towering crest 

Tops a green vale ; 
Men thy bold deeds shall tell, 

Old Heart of Oak, 
Daring Dave Farragut, 

Thunderbolt stroke ! 

— W. T. Meredith, 



!74 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 



j£o0n (§utm of (BetfEsfiurg. 

T T AVE you heard the story that gossips tell 

Of Burns of Gettysburg ? No? Ah, well: 
Brief is the glory that hero earns, 
Briefer the story of poor John Burns ; 
He was the fellow who won renown, — 
The only man who didn't back down 
When the rebels rode through his native town ; 
But held his own in the fight next day, 
When all his townsfolk ran away. 
That was in July, sixty-three, — 
The very day that General Lee, 
Flower of Southern chivalry, 
Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 
From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 

I might tell how, but the day before, 
John Burns stood at his cottage door, 
Looking down the village street, 
Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, 
He heard the low of his gathered kine, 
And felt their breath with incense sweet ; 
Or, I might say, when the sunset burned 
The old farm gable, he thought it turned 

J 73 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



The milk that fell like a babbling flood 
Into the milk-pail, red as blood ; 
Or, how he fancied the hum of bees 
Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 
But all such fanciful thoughts as these 
Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 
Who minded only his own concerns, 
Troubled no more by fancies fine 
Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, - 
Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 
Slow to argue, but quick to act. 
That was the reason, as some folk say, 
He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 

Raged for hours the heady fight, 

Thundered the battery's double bass, — 

Difficult music for men to face ; 

While on the left, — where now the graves 

Undulate like the living waves 

That all the day unceasing swept 

Up to the pits the rebels kept, — 

Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, 

Sown with bullets, reaped with blades ; 

Shattered fences here and there, 

Tossed their splinters in the air ; 

The very trees were stripped and bare ; 

i?6 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 



The barns that once held yellow grain 
Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; 
The cattle bellowed on the plain, 
The turkeys screamed with might and main, 
And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 
With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns, 

Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns. 

How do you think the man was dressed ? 

He wore an ancient, long buff vest, 

Yellow as saffron, — but his best ; 

And buttoned over his manly breast 

Was a bright blue coat with a rolling collar, 

And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country-folk called " swaller.' 

He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 

For forty years on the village green, 

Since old John Burns was a country beau, 

And went to the " quiltings " long ago. 

Close at his elbows all that day, 
Veterans of the Peninsula, 
Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; 
And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — 
Clerks that the Home-guard mustered in, — 

177 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, 

With scraps of a slangy repertoire : 

" How are you, White Hat ? " " Put her through ! " 

" Your head's level ! " and " Bully for you ! " 

Called him « Daddy," — begged he'd disclose 

The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 

And what was the value he set on those ; 

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 

Stood there picking the rebels off, — 

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat, 

And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 

'Twas but a moment, for that respect 

Which clothes all courage their voices checked ; 

And something the wildest could understand 

Spake in the old man's strong right hand, 

And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 

Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; 

Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 

Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 

In the antique vestments and long white hair, 

The Past of the Nation in battle there ; 

And some of the soldiers since declare 

That the gleam of his old white hat afar, 

Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 

178 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 



That day was their oriflamme of war. 

Thus raged the battle. You know the rest ; 

How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed, 

Broke at the final charge and ran. 

At which John Burns, — a practical man, — 

Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, 

And then went back to his bees and cows. 

That is the story of old John Burns ; 
This is the moral the reader learns : 
In fighting the battle, the question's whether 
You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather. 

— Bret Harte< 



179 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e $ic&tt 45uarb. 

" A LL quiet along the Potomac," they say, 
" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
'Tis nothing, — a private or two, now and then, 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost, — only one of the men 

Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; 
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 

Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. 
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind 

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; 
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 

Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. 

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, 
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, 

And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed 
Far away in the cot on the mountain. 

His musket falls slack, — his face, dark and grim, 
Grows gentle with memories tender, 



THE PICKET GUARD. 



As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, — 
For their mother, — may Heaven defend her ! 

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, 

That night, when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his lips, — when low-murmured vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken. 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes off tears that are welling, 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place 

As if to keep down the heart-swelling. 

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — 

The footstep is lagging and weary ; 
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, 

Towards the shades of the forest so dreary. 
Hark ! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves? 

Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing ? 
It looks like a rifle — ah ! — " Mary, good-by ! " 

And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

No sound save the rush of the river ; 
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, — 

The picket's off duty forever. 

— Ethel Lynn Beers. 



181 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(JteameE at JJe&en $int& 

CO that soldierly legend is still on its journey, — 

That story of Kearney who knew not to yield ! 
'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and 
Birney, 
Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. 
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose 
highest, 
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf 
oak and pine, 
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and 
nighest, 
No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole 
line. 



When the battle went ill, and the bravest were 
solemn, 
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held 
our ground, 
He rode down the length of the withering column, 
And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a 
bound. 
He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the pow- 
der, — 

182 



KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES. 



His sword waved us on, and we answered the 

sign; 
Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the 

louder ; 
" There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the 

whole line ! " 

How he strode his brown steed ! How we saw his 
blade brighten 
In the one hand still left, — and the reins in his 
teeth ! 
He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, 

But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, 

Asking where to go in, — through the clearing or 
pine? 
" Oh, anywhere ! Forward ! 'Tis all the same, 
colonel : 
You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line ! " 



Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, 
That hid him from sight of his brave men and 
tried ! 
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 
The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's 
pride ! 



183 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Yet we dream that he still, — in that shadowy region 
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- 
mer's sign, — 
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, 
And the word still is Forward! along the whole 
line. 

— Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



184 



AFTER ALL. 



®ffer <$tt 

'THE apples are ripe in the orchard, 

The work of the reaper is done, 
And the golden woodlands redden 
In the blood of the dying sun. 

At the cottage door the grandsire 

Sits pale in his easy chair, 
While the gentle wind of twilight 

Plays with his silver hair. 

A woman is kneeling beside him ; 

A fair young head is pressed, 
In the first wild passion of sorrow, 

Against his aged breast. 

And far from over the distance 

The faltering echoes come 
Of the flying blast of trumpet 

And the rattling roll of the drum. 

And the grandsire speaks in a whisper : 
" The end, no man can see ; 

But we gave him to his country, 
And we give our prayers to thee." 

185 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



The violets star the meadows, 

The rosebuds fringe the door, 
And over the grassy orchard 

The pink-white blossoms pour. 

But the grandsire's chair is empty, 

The cottage is dark and still ; 
There's a nameless grave in the battle- 
field, 

And a new one under the hill. 

And a pallid, tearless woman 

By the cold hearth sits alone, 
And the old clock in the corner 

Ticks on with a steady drone. 

— William Winter. 



1 86 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 



|}0eriban'0 (gibe. 

T T P from the south, at break of day, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thunder'd along the horizon's bar ; 
And louder yet into Winchester roll'd 
The roar of that red sea uncontroll'd, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good broad highway leading down: 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed as black as the steeds of night 

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 

As if he knew the terrible need, 

He stretch'd away with his utmost speed ; 

187 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flow'd, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 
But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; 
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the general saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; 
What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. 
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 

188 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 

He dash'd down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, 
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, 

because 
The sight of the master compell'd it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was 

gray; 
By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, 
He seem'd to the whole great army to say : 
" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester down to save the day." 

Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 

And when their statues are placed on high, 

Under the dome of the Union sky, 

The American soldier's Temple of Fame, 

There with the glorious general's name 

Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : 

" Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 

From Winchester, — twenty miles away ! " 

— Thomas Buchanan Read. 



189 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



©rifcing gome ff$e CoJ&s, 

/~\UT of the clover and blue-eyed grass, 
He turned them into the river-lane ; 
One after another he let them pass, 
Then fastened the meadow bars again. 

Under the willows, and over the hill, 
He patiently followed their sober pace ; 

The merry whistle for once was still, 

And something shadowed the sunny face. 

Only a boy ! and his father had said 
He never could let his youngest go ; 

Two already were lying dead 

Under the feet of the trampling foe. 

But after the evening work was done, 
And the frogs were loud in the meadow 
swamp, 

Over his shoulder he slung his gun, 

And stealthily followed the footpath damp. 

Across the clover and through the wheat, 
With resolute heart and purpose grim, 

Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, 
And the blind bat's flitting startled him. 



190 



DRIVING HOME THE COWS. 



Thrice since then had the lanes been white, 
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; 

And now when the cows came back at night, 
The feeble father drove them home. 

For news had come to the lonely farm 

That three were lying where two had lain ; 

And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm 
Could never lean on a son's again. 

The summer day grew cold and late, 

He went for the cows when the work was 
done ; 

But down the lane, as he opened the gate, 
He saw them coming, one by one, — 

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, 

Shaking their horns in the evening wind : 

Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, — 
But who was it following close behind ? 

Loosely swung in the idle air 

The empty sleeve of army blue ; 
And worn and pale from the crisping hair 

Looked out a face that the father knew. 

For the Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, 
And yield their dead unto life again ; 

191 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn 
In golden glory at last may wane. 

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; 
For the heart must speak when the lips are 
dumb; 
And under the silent evening skies, 

Together they followed the cattle home. 

— Kate Putnam Osgood. 



192 



MUSIC IN CAMP. 



(gtusic in Cftmp. 

HP WO armies covered hill and plain, 
Where Rappahannock's waters 
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain 
Of battle's recent slaughters. 

The summer clouds lay pitched like tents 

In meads of heavenly azure ; 
And each dread gun of the elements 

Slept in its high embrasure. 

The breeze so softly blew, it made 

No forest leaf to quiver ; 
And the smoke of the random cannonade 

Rolled slowly from the river. 

And now, where circling hills looked down 

With cannon grimly planted, 
O'er listless camp and silent town 

The golden sunset slanted. 

When on the fervid air there came 
A strain, now rich, now tender, 

The music seemed itself aflame 
With day's departing splendor. 



193 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



A Federal band, which eve and morn 
Played measures brave and nimble, 

Had just struck up, with flute and horn 
And lively clash of cymbal. 

Down flocked the soldiers to the banks ; 

Till, margined by its pebbles, 
One wooded shore was blue with " Yanks," 

And one was gray with " Rebels." 

Then all was still ; and then the band, 
With movement light and tricksy, 

Made stream and forest, hill and strand, 
Reverberate with " Dixie." 

The conscious stream, with burnished glow, 

Went proudly o'er its pebbles, 
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow 

With yelling of the Rebels. 

Again a pause ; and then again 

The trumpet pealed, sonorous, 
And " Yankee Doodle " was the strain 

To which the shore gave chorus. 

The laughing ripple shoreward flew 

To kiss the shining pebbles ; 
Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue 

Defiance to the Rebels. 

♦ 

194 



MUSIC IN CAMP. 



And yet once more the bugle sang 

Above the stormy riot ; 
No shout upon the evening rang, — 

There reigned a holy quiet. 

The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood 
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles; 

All silent now the Yankees stood, 
All silent stood the Rebels. 

No unresponsive soul had heard 

That plaintive note's appealing, 
So deeply " Home, Sweet Home " had stirred 

The hidden founts of feeling. 

Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees, 

As by the wand of fairy, 
The cottage 'neath the live oak trees, 

The cabin by the prairie. 

Or cold, or warm, his native skies 

Bend in their beauty o'er him ; 
Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes, 

His loved ones stand before him. 

As fades the iris after rain 

In April's tearful weather, 
The vision vanished as the strain 

And daylight died together. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



But Memory, waked by Music's art, 
Expressed in simple numbers, 

Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart, 
Made light the Rebel's slumbers. 

And fair the form of Music shines, — 
That bright celestial creature, — 

Who still 'mid War's embattled lines 
Gave this one touch of Nature. 



-John R. Thompson. 



THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE. 



£($tee Jgunfcrefc Zfyousanb Qttore. 

AirE are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred 

thousand more, 
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New 

England's shore ; 
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and 

children dear, 
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent 

tear ; 
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before : 
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred 

thousand more ! 

If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern 

sky, 
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may 

descry ; 
And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil 

aside, 
And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in 

pride, 
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave 

music pour : 
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred 

thousand more ! 

197 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



If you look all up our valleys where the growing har- 
vests shine, 

You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into 
line ; 

And children from their mothers' knees are pulling at 
the weeds, 

And learning how to reap and sow against their coun- 
try's needs ; 

And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage 
door; 

We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred 
thousand more ! 

You have called us, and we're coming, by Richmond's 

bloody tide 
To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers' 

bones beside, 
Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the 

murderous blade, 
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to 

parade. 
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone 

before : 
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred 

thousand more ! 



CAVALRY SONG. 



r\UR good steeds snuff the evening air, 
^" y ^ Our pulses with their purpose tingle ; 
The foeman's fires are twinkling there ; 
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle ! 

Halt ! 
Each carbine sends its whizzing ball : 
Now, cling ! clang ! forward all, 

Into the fight ! 

Dash on beneath the smoking dome : 

Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! 
One look to Heaven ! No thoughts of home : 
The guidons that we bear are dearer. 
Charge ! 
Cling ! clang ! forward all ! 
Heaven help those whose horses fall ! 
Cut left and right ! 

They flee before our fierce attack ! 

They fall ! they spread in broken surges ! 
Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, 

And leave the foeman to his dirges. 
Wheel ! 

199 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



The bugles sound the swift recall : 
Cling ! clang ! backward all ! 
Home, and good night ! 

— Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



MARCHING STILL. 



CHE is old, and bent, and wrinkled, 

In her rocker in the sun, 
And the thick, gray, woollen stocking 

That she knits is never done. 
She will ask the news of battle 

If you pass her when you will, 
For to her the troops are marching, 
Marching still. 

Seven tall sons about her growing 
Cheered the widowed mother's soul ; 

One by one they kissed and left her 
When the drums began to roll. 

They are buried in the trenches, 
They are bleaching on the hill; 

But to her the boys are marching, 
Marching still. 

She was knitting in the corner 
When the fatal news was read, 

How the last and youngest perished, — 
And the letter, ending, said : 

" I am writing on my knapsack 
By the road, with borrowed quill, 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



For the Union army's marching, 
Marching still." 

Reason sank and died within her 

Like a flame for want of air ; 
So she knits the woollen stockings 

For the soldier lads to wear, 
Waiting till the war is ended 

For her sons to cross the sill ; 
For she thinks they all are marching, 
Marching still. 

— Minna Irving. 



THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM. 

£0e Q5aftfe*crE of freebom. 

"V^ES, we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, we'll rally 
once again, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, 
We will rally from the hillside, we'll gather from the 
plain, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. 

CHORUS. 

The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah, 
Down with the traitor, up with the star, 

While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once again, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. 

We are springing to the call of our brothers gone be- 
fore, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, 
And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen 
more, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. 

We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and 
brave, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, 



203 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And altho' they may be poor, not a man shall be a 
slave, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. 

So we're springing to the call from the East and 
from the West, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, 
And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love 
the best, 
Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE. 



$0e Crafts Charge. 

T T ARK ! the rattling roar of the musketeers, 

And the ruffled drums, and the rallying cheers, 
And the rifles burn with a keen desire 
Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire, 
And the singing shot, and the shrieking shell, 
And the splintered fire on the shattered hell, 
And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke 
As the growling guns by batteries spoke ; 
And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue 
Where the iron surge rolled heavily through, 
That the colonel builds with a breath again 
As he cleaves the din with his " Close up, men! " 
And the groan torn out from the blackened lips, 
And the prayer doled slow with the crimsoned drips, 
And the beaming look in the dying eye 
As under the cloud the stars go by, 
" But his soul marched on ! " the captain said, 
For the Boy in Blue can never be dead ! 
And the troopers sit in their saddles all 
Like statues carved in an ancient hall, 
And they watch the whirl from their breathless 

ranks, 
And their spurs are close to the horses' flanks, 

205 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And the fingers work of the sabre hand, — 
Oh, to bid them live, and to make them grand ! 
And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, 
And away they plunge, and the front is passed ! 
And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, 
And the scabbards, too, that clank by their side, 
And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod 
As they gallop right on o'er the plashy red sod, — 
Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, 
Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, 
Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, 
Right through the dense columns, — then, "Right 

about wheel!' 1 '' 
Hurrah ! a new swath through the harvest again I 
Hurrah for the Flag ! To the battle, Amen ! 

— Benjamin F. Taylor. 



206 



THE BLACK REGIMENT. 



$0e QBfacft (gegimenf, 

"T^ARK as the clouds of even, 

Ranked in the western heaven, 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dead mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land, — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
Waiting the great event, 
Stands the black regiment. 



Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam, and eyeballs shine ; 
And the bright bayonet, 
Bristling and firmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told them what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 

207 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
" Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our cold chains again ! " 
Oh, what a shout there went 
From the black regiment ! 

" Charge ! " trump and drum awoke ; 
Onward the bondsmen broke ; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 
With but one thought aflush, 
Driving their lords like chaff, 
In the gun's mouth they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands, 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crushing steel, — 
All their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the black regiment. 

208 






THE BLACK REGIMENT. 



" Freedom ! " their battle-cry, — 
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word, 
Not as with us 'tis heard, — 
Not a mere party shout ; 
They gave their spirits out, 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow, 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, 
Though on the lips of death ; 
Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again, 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty ! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges, and shackles strong, 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be just and true ! 

209 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side. 
Never, in field or tent, 
Scorn the black regiment ! 

— George H. Boker. 



THE WAR WITH SPAIN 



ON THE EVE OF WAR. 



fyn ffje (Eke of °CQut. 

r\ GOD of Battles, who art still 

The God of Love, the God of Rest, 
Subdue thy people's fiery will, 

And quell the passions in their breast ! 
Before we bathe our hands in blood 
We lift them to thy Holy Rood. 

The waiting nations hold their breath 
To catch the dreadful battle-cry ; 

And in the silence as of death 
The fateful hours go softly by. 

Oh, hear thy people where they pray, 

And shrive our souls before the fray ! 

Before the sun of peace shall set, 
We kneel apart a solemn while ; 

Pity the eyes with sorrow wet, 
But pity most the lips that smile. 

The night comes fast ; we hear afar 

The baying of the wolves of war. 

Not lightly, oh, not lightly, Lord, 
Let this our awful task begin ; 

213 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Speak from thy throne a warning word 

Above the angry factions' din. 
If this be thy Most Holy will, 
Be with us still, — be with us still ! 

— Danske Dandridge. 
Good Friday •, i8g8. 



214 



ANSWERING TO ROLL-CALL. 



» 

'T^HIS one fought with Jackson, and faced the fight 

with Lee; 
That one followed Sherman as he galloped to the 

sea; 
But they're marchin' on together just as friendly as 

can be, 
And they'll answer to the roll-call in the mornin' ! 

They'll rally to the fight, 

In the stormy day and night, 
In bonds that no cruel fate shall sever; 

While the storm-winds waft on high 

Their ringing battle-cry : 
" Our country, — our country forever ! " 

The brave old flag above them is rippling down its 

red, — 
Each crimson stripe the emblem of the blood by 

heroes shed ; 
It shall wave for them victorious or droop above 

them, — dead, 
For they'll answer to the roll-call in the mornin' ! 

215 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



They'll rally to the fight 

In the stormy day and night, 
In bonds that no cruel fate shall sever ; 

While their far-famed battle-cry 

Shall go ringing to the sky : 
" Our country, — our country forever ! " 

— Frank L. Stanton. 



216 



NEW BEACONS SET. 

(IteW) Q5eacon0 §btt 

To the heroes of the war-ship Maine. 

TVT O more, no more shall come the brave - 

The champions of the free — 
Who bore our flag upon the wave 
From farthest sea to sea. 

No cheer shall rise from sailor lip 

To greet the starry fold, 
The ensign of the gallant ship 

Shall be no more unroll'd ! 

Three hundred heroes in their might 
Their country's summons heard — 

Thrice-sworn to guard their country's right 
From harm of deed or word ; 

Nor trustier band e'er faced a foe 

Upon the surging deep, 
Nor met the thousand-shotted blow 

Along the bloody steep ! 

Not theirs the fierce delight to feel 

The fury of the fray, — 
To know their steel quick answered steel 

Where foemen barr'd the way ; 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



But in the shadow of the gloom 
That 'round the proud ship fell, 

There burst the awful roar of doom 
And fires of sudden hell ! 

They died as only men can die 

Who follow, as their star, 
Grim Duty's light — nor question why — 

Thro' paths of peace and war ! 

Beside the sea their graves are set, — 

Beneath the surging foam, — 
And many a Northland eye is wet 

Because they come not home ! 

They come not home forevermore, 

But evermore they'll be, 
From lake to gulf, from shore to shore, 

New beacons to the free, — 

New lights upon the rocky coasts 

To guide our Ship of State ; 
New proof how hearts, too brave for boasts, 

In serving may be great ! 

— John Jerome Rooney. 



"REMEMBER THE MAINE." 



"(gememfier f($e (gtaine." 

"\1 THEN the vengeance wakes, when the battle 
breaks, 

And the ships sweep out to sea, 
When the foe is neared and the decks are cleared 

And the colors floating free, 
When the squadrons meet, when it's fleet to fleet 

And front to front with Spain, 
From ship to ship, from lip to lip, 

Pass on the quick refrain, 

" Remember, remember the Maine I " 

When the flag shall sign, " Advance in line ; 

Train ships on an even keel," 
When the guns shall flash and the shot shall crash 

And bound on the ringing steel, 
When the rattling blasts from the armored masts 

Are hurling their deadliest rain, 
Let their voices loud, through the blinding cloud, 

Cry ever the fierce refrain, 

" Remember, remember the Maine / " 

God's sky and sea in that storm shall be 
Fate's chaos of smoke and flame, 

219 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



But across that hell every shot shall tell, 

Not a gun can miss its aim ; 
Not a blow shall fail on the crumbling mail, 

And the waves that engulf the slain 
Shall sweep the decks of the blackened wrecks 

With the thundering, dread refrain, 

" Remember, remember the Maine / " 

— Robert Burns Wilson. 






THE MAINE'S MEN. 



$0e Qttaine'0 (JJten. 

T~\EATH came out of the black night's deep, 

And steered for a battle-ship's side ; 
But never a man of the sailor clan 
Looked on the Deathman's ride. 

The Kansas lad and the Hampshire boy, 

And the boy from Tennessee, 
With never a fear that death was near, 

Swung into eternity. 

Nor flag, nor shot, nor battle-cry, 

Nor strain of the Nation's air, 
Broke into the gloom of the sailor's doom, 

Nor yet a priestly prayer. 

There looks a face from a far-away home, 

With eye bent on the sea, 
For the Hampshire Jack who'll ne'er come back, 

Nor the lad from Tennessee. 

Not theirs was the glory of battle 

No victory crowned the day, 
But a Nation weeps that the dark sea keeps 

Her dead beneath the bay. 

— Mexico Two Republics. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



JJong of f$e (gftpiostfires. 

V7"OU may take the thirteen-inchers, 

And the eights and six and fours ; 
You may take the heavy battery, 
And the rain of shells it pours ; 
You may take the grim projectile 

And the mighty solid shot, 
But we, the rapid-flrers, 

Are the guns that make things hot. 
Oh, it's swift the turrets swing us, 

And with steady, ready ken 
We reach the decks and sweep them 

With their living walls of men! 
It's ping, and sping, and splutter, 

And it's beautiful to be 
The tenors in the chorus 

That is sung across the sea ! 

Swing your broadside into action, 

Let the forward turrets play, 
Hark the thunder of the cannon 

As they dance in death's chasse" ! 
Sweep the courses with the squadron, 

Let them give and take again, 



SONG OF THE RAPID - FIRES. 



Send the foe the thunder-challenge, — 
But it's we that take the men ! 
Oh, it's terrible to hear us, 

And it's lively when we sing, 
As across the heaving billows 

To the foemen's deck we spring ; 
We are tenors of the chorus, 

But on starboard or on lee 
We are heard above the thunder 

That is sung across the sea ! 

We are flame and fire and terror, 

We are twenty to their one ; 
We are up again and at them 

Ere they charge the heavy gun ; 
And our lips are red with battle, 

And our throats are hoarse with smoke, 
When we land upon their quarter 
And they feel our lightning stroke. 
Oh, it's rapid, rapid, rapid, 

Jolly rapid-fires are we, 
Singing 'round the ranging turret 

And across the surging sea. 
We are brothers to the heavies 

And we strike where they have missed, 
And there's doom upon the quarter 
Where our twenty bolts have kissed. 

223 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Swing the pounders into action, 

We shall beat the batteries yet ! 
From the furnace to the funnel, 

Where the naked seameii sweat, 
We are heard amid the chorus, 

And they know our surging shout, 
As we sing across the waters 
From our triple-steel redoubt. 
Oh, it's rip and roar and rumble 

When the thirteens sink the foe, 
And it 's death upon the billows 
When the solid pounders go ; 
But it's swift the turrets swing us 

And with steady, ready ken 
We search the decks and sweep them 
With their living walls of men ! 

— Baltimore News. 



224 



TO SPAIN — A LAST WORD. 



to J^ain — ® feasf Wotb. 

TBERIAN! palter no more! By thine hands, 
thine alone, they were slain ! 
Oh, 'twas a deed in the dark — 
Yet mark ! 
We will show you a way — only one — by which ye 
may blot out the stain ! 

Build them a monument whom to death-sleep, in 
their sleep, ye betrayed ! 
Proud and stern let it be — 

Cuba free ! 
So, only, the stain shall be razed — so, only, the great 
debt be paid ! 

— Edith M. Thomas. 



225 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Cufia. 

Originally published in 1858. 

Q'ER thy purple hills, O Cuba ! 

Through thy valleys of romance, 
All thy glorious dreams of freedom 
Are but dreamt as in a trance. 

Mountain pass and fruitful valley, 
Mural town and spreading plain, 

Show the footsteps of the Spaniard, 
In his burning lust for gain. 

Since the caravel of Colon 
Grated first upon thy strand, 

Ev'rything about thee, Cuba, 
Shows the iron Spanish hand. 

Hear that crash of martial music ? 

From the plaza how it swells ! 
How it trembles with the meaning 

Of the story that it tells ! 

Turn thy steps up to Artares, — 
There was done a deed of shame ! 

Helpless men were coldly butchered, — 
'Tis a part of Spanish fame. 

226 



CUBA. 



Wander now down to the Punta, — 
Lay thy hand upon thy throat, — 

Thou wilt see a Spanish emblem 
In the dark and grim garrote. 

In the Moro, — in the Market, — 
In the shadow, — in the sun, — ■ 

Thou wilt see the bearded Spaniard, 
Where a gold piece may be won. 

And they fatten on thee, Cuba ! 

Gay Soldado, — cunning priest, — 
How these vultures flock and hover, 

On thy tortured breast to feast ! 

Thou Prometheus of the ocean, 

Bound down, — not for what thou'st done, 
But for fear thy social statue 

Should start living in the sun ! 

And we give thee tears, O Cuba ! 

And our prayers to God uplift, 
That at last the flame celestial 

May come down to thee, — a gift t 

—J. B. Hope. 



327 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



CtxQa. 

CHEls fighting for her freedom, striving hard to 

rend in twain 
The base chains that hold her captive at the feet of 

cruel Spain, 
While the iron hand of power, stretching out across 

the sea, 
Seeks to crush the infant nation in her struggle to be 

free. 



Like fierce wolves the armored war-ships flock about 
her naked coasts, 

And her verdant fields are trampled by the feet of 
hostile hosts. 

Grim Destruction's form stalks onward in the battle- 
blighted path, 

Smiting all her land with terror in his dire, unsparing 
wrath. 

There is not an arm to shield her, and no helping 

hand is found, 
That will aid to break the fetters that so long have 

held her bound. 



22S 






CUBA. 



All the nations gaze with coldness at her travail and 

her woe, 
Leaving her alone to grapple with her stern, relentless 

foe. 

She may fail, t— sink overpower'd by the fierce in- 
vading bands, 

And her good lance fall in splinters from her firm, 
unflinching hands, 

For the battle is not always with the ones whose 
cause is just, 

And the tyrant's sword has sometimes laid fair Free- 
dom in the dust. 

She may sink, like poor, lost Poland, vanquished in a 

righteous fray, 
And Oppression's cruel vultures flock about their 

helpless prey ; 
But the kindly hearts of millions, loving liberty and 

right, 
Beat for her in her brave struggle, in her thraldom, 

and her night. 

— James Gardner. 



229 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Cufia, 1897- 

f~\ GOD ! that I might breathe of Freedom's air ; 
Alone I weep to-day, alone, forlorn, — 
Twin sister of pale Sorrow, wan and worn ; 
Low, low I kneel with dark dishevelled hair. 

My noblest, bravest sons lie starving where 
Grim Morro looms on high ; my flesh is torn 
And bleeding from the tyrant's lash ; I mourn 

My children slain ; I cry in my despair 

For some protecting arm, — some flashing sword 
Upraised in my defence ; I cry, and yet 

All lands stand dumb and will not answer me. 
How long ere my deep prayer be heard, O Lord, 
How long ere my bruised feet be firmly set 
Upon the radiant peak of Liberty ? 

— Herbert Bashford. 



230 



I 



CUBA, 1898. 



£ufi&, 1898. 

T AND of languor and of beauty, where the tawny 
sunset blending 
In a blaze of gold and scarlet from the hillside to 
the sea, — 
Where the rose-scent softly lingers and the drowsy 
palms are bending 
In a reverent obeisance ere the day shall cease to 
be; 

Land of music and of moonlight, where the gorgeous 
flowers are gleaming 
In chaotic chords of color in the palace gardens 
fair, 
And the fountains sing and tinkle in the wonder of 
your dreaming, 
And the birds of brilliant plumage flash and flame 
upon the air ; 

Land of legend and of story, with your sultriness and 

splendor, 
And your skies of purest sapphire so ethereally 

blue; 
All the universe has wakened to a vast compassion 

tender, 

231 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

And the sons of men stand breathless, for the world 
is watching you. 

In the majesty of morning, when the sunshine spreads 
and glistens 
In a myriad shining spangles on the forest and the 
sward, 
Rings the war-cry of your legions ; and the poltroon 
Spaniard listens, 
And he trembles in an ague at the slogan of the 
sword. 

In the marshes and morasses, where the cobra coils 
and hisses, 
And your heroes who have fallen in the fight 
serenely lie ; 
All their sleeping is the sweeter for the tender 
breeze's kisses, — 
And the buzzard sails and circles like a sentinel on 
high. 

Cuba ! — Paradise of beauty ! — Hell of tyrant's cold 

devising ! — 
Made a shambles and a charnel-house thro' twice 

a hundred years ! 
I can hear the utter anguish of a million mothers 

rising 

232 



CUBA, 1898. 



In a wilderness of weeping, — in a hurricane of 
tears { 

Stand to arms, you men of valor ! For the conflict's 
almost over, 
And the waking world stands panting to acclaim a 
people free ; 
For the fetters fall and crumble, and the Spaniard 
skulks to cover, 
As the bells clang out a tocsin from the mountains 
to the sea. 

And your land shall live in loveliness ! The hillside 
and the river 
And the flowers that bloom and bourgeon shall pro- 
claim the glad release ; 
And your name shall stand untarnished on the Scroll 
of Fame forever ; 
You have fought and bled for glory, — you shall 
know the bliss of peace. 

— Harold R. Vynne. 



2 33 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e (Battering* 

"I17"E are coming, Cuba, — coming ; our starry 
banner shines 
Above the swarming legions, sweeping downward 
to the sea. 
From Northern hill, and Western plain, and tower- 
ing Southern pines 
The serried hosts are gathering, — and Cuba shall 
be free. 



We are coming, Cuba, — coming. Thy sturdy pa- 
triots brave, 
Who fight as fought our fathers in the old time 
long ago, 
Shall see the Spanish squadrons sink beneath the 
whelming wave, 
And plant their own loved banner on the ramparts 
of their foe. 



We are coming, Cuba, — coming. Across the bil- 
low's foam 
Our gallant ships are bearing our bravest down to 
thee, 



234 



THE GATHERING. 



While earnest prayers are rising from every free- 
man's home 
That freedom's God may lead them on, and Cuba 
shall be free. 

— Herbert B. Swett. 



235 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



but $0£S $re Qjtarc0mg on, 

\1 7"E heard the music ringing from the camps of 

long ago ; 
The solemn tramp of armies, as they marched to 

meet the foe ; 
We echo back their battle-song, that all the world 

may know 
Our flag is marching on ! 

CHORUS. 

Long ago the boys were marching ; 
North and South to battle marching ; 
Now together they are marching, — 

Together marching on. 
Marching on to fields of glory, 
Marching on to deeds of glory, 
Hear again the nation's story, — 

Our boys are marching on ! 

We heard the bugle calling to the sons of Blue and 
Gray; 

Our veterans were falling, one by one, beside the 
way; 

They'll join with us in singing, on their next Me- 
morial day, — 
Our boys are marching on ! 

236 



OUR BOYS ARE MARCHING ON. 



Blue and Gray are now united ; 
North and South are now united ; 
'Round the flag with hearts united, — 

Together marching on. 
Marching on to fields of glory ; 
Marching on to deeds of glory ; 
Hear again their ringing story, — 

Our boys are marching on ! 

We heard the voice of wailing, — Cuba writhing in 

her pain ; 
" Deliver us, your neighbors, from the clutch of cruel 

Spain." 
We are coming, Cuba libre, to redeem you and the 

Maine, — 
Old Glory's marching on ! 



Spain must go, and go forever ; 
Cuba's chains the sword must sever ; 
Yanks and Johnnies falter never, — 

Together marching on. 
Marching on to fields of glory ; 
Marching on to deeds of glory ; 
Sing again the dear old story, — 

Of Freedom marching on ! 

237 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



There's a breeze from off the ocean, bringing mem- 
ories of the past ; 

Of the flag that waved in triumph, — we will nail it 
to the mast ! 

There is glory for our Navy, and for Spain the die is 
cast, — 
Our Navy's sailing on ! 



Sailing on, with Dewey sailing ; 
Sailing on, with Sampson sailing; 
Sailing on, our Schley is sailing, 

Wherever glory's won. 
Glory, glory for our Navy ; 
Glory, glory for our Navy ; 
Hear the echoes from our Navy ; 

Our Navy's sailing on ! 

— John H. Jewett. 



BATTLE -SHIP AND TORPEDO-BOAT. 



(§<xtttttB$ip an* tovpetoottioat 

CMOOTH and lean, — they have stripped her 
clean 

Down to her leering guns. 
A-weather and lee she smashes the sea 

With her weight of ten thousand tons, 
From bow to stern her watchers turn 

The beams of her searching suns. 

A-wash, half-drowned, we speed around 

To beat the veering light, 
For she must see, ere her fangs are free, 

That she may begin to bite, 
And we laugh where we lie, at the blundering eye 

That misses us in the night. 

They have freighted her with five hundred men ; 

She is fierce with rifled guns; 
But she cannot mark, as she rolls in the dark, 

The death that comes and runs. 
We flit as a mist-wreath on the sea, 

And ere her topmen leap 
We have struck and fled, and the riven dead 

Are sucked in the whirling deep. 

— /. W. M, 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e $loin0 in fl$e tmttt 

FIRST RIFLE. 

PAN you see her, O my brother? 

Can you sight her through the rack ? 
Is that streak across the smother 

Coal smoke trailing from a stack ? 
Do you hear how louder, clearer 

Sounds the throbbing of our screws ? 
When we come a little nearer, 

Which of us shall hail her ? Choose ! 

SECOND RIFLE. 

Let me send a brief opinion 

Of the murders on the Maine; 
Of the Eagle's new dominion, 

When we've closed accounts with Spain, — 
There, they've passed the word to crowd her, 

Here's our squad, too, on the run. 
Glad we've got this smokeless powder. 

Now, look out, — you'll see the fun. 

FIRST RIFLE. 

Are you ready, brother, ready 
With your thunderbolt of steel ? 

240 



THE TWINS IN THE TURRET. 



Have they got your bearings steady ? 

Gods, you made the whole world reel ! 
Now it's my turn ; what, you hit her 

In her vitals ? Oh, what bliss ! 
There is naught in life as bitter 

For a rifle as a miss. 

SECOND RIFLE. 

All hell's loose ; there's no use talking. 

That's the time you ripped her wide ! 
Look, there's Davy Jones a-walking, 

Picking Spaniards from the tide. 
Hi ! But it's a howling racket, 

For a great, long, silent gun ! 
Easy, now, don't burst your jacket ! 

Our death-dealing work is done. 

— John Paul Bocock. 



241 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$ JEfemn of £>ur (&xmm. 

T HEAR the sound at midnight of the tramp of 
many feet ; 

It rolls from country highways, it echoes from the 
street ; 

I hear its murmurs meet, and swell, and surge like 
waters fleet, 
Marching, marching, marching, marching, march- 
ing on ! 

I listen in the daybreak to the noise of rolling cars, 
With their freight of living valor sweeping south- 
ward to the wars ; 
From every commonwealth beneath our country's 
flashing stars, 
Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling on ! 

Through the morning comes a wailing up from over 

all the land, 
Mothers weeping for their sons who pass among the 

moving band, 
Wives mourning for the husbands they have lent 

with loyal hand 
To their country's risen legions marching on. 

242 



A HYMN OF OUR ARMIES. 



There are flashes — not of sunrise — from the islands 

far a-sea, 
Where the mists are shot with lightnings of the hot 

artillery, 
And the cloud of battle brightens with the sun of 

victory, 
In the eyes of many nations shining on. 

And my spirit hears an answer from the islands of 

the south, 
Where the nation's heart is speaking through the 

cannon's smoky mouth; 
'Tis the voice of burdened peoples, from amid their 

pain and drouth, 
Shouting glory to the mighty marching on ! 

And while I watch and listen, my soul within is 

stirred, 
And I catch a gladder message than mine ears to-day 

have heard, 
'Tis the spirit of my country with her everlasting 

word 
Chanting freedom to all people drawing on. 

As it was from the beginning, to the end that word 
shall be 

243 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

God's light to peoples captive, God's life to peoples 

free. 
Speaking nearer, clearer, dearer, its sweet creed of 
liberty, 
To the heights of noblest glory rolling on ! 

— O. C. A uringer. 



244 



FOR CUBA. 



§or Cufto. 

"^T O precedent, ye say, ' 

To point the glorious way 
Towards help for one downtrod in blood and tears ? 

Brothers, 'tis time there were ! 

We bare our swords for her, 
And set a model for the coming years ! 

This act, to end her pain, 

Without a hope of gain, v 
Its like on history's page where can ye read ? 

Humanity and God 

Call us to paths untrod ! 
On, brothers, on ! we follow not, but lead ! 

— Robert Mowry Bell. 



245 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



IT IGH on the world did our fathers of old, 

Under the stars and stripes, 
Blazon the name that we now must uphold, 

Under the stars and stripes. 
Vast in the past they have builded an arch 
Over which freedom has lighted her torch. 
Follow it ! Follow it ! Come, let us march 

Under the stars and stripes ! 

We in whose bodies the blood of them runs, 

Under the stars and stripes, 
We will acquit us as sons of their sons, 

Under the stars and stripes, 
Ever for justice, our heel upon wrong, 
We in the light of our vengeance thrice .strong ! 
Rally together ! Come tramping along 

Under the stars and stripes ! 

Out of our strength and a nation's great need, 

Under the stars and stripes, 
Heroes again as of old we shall breed, 

Under the stars and stripes. 

246 



UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 



Broad to the winds be our banner unfurled ! 
Straight in Spain's face let defiance be hurled ! 
God on our side, we will battle the world 
Under the stars and stripes ! 

— Madison Cawein. 



247 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e JJcmg of Qjlamfa, 

A S it began to dawn, you know, 

Just at the peep of day, 
Ere yet the sun was fully up 
Above Manila Bay, — 

We crept into their port, my boy, 
Their crews were sound asleep ; 

Crept close upon their forts and ships, 
Glassed in the quiet deep. 

But when the Spanish sluggards woke, 

Upspringing with the sun, 
They sent across the shining wave 

A booming, harmless gun. 

No answer first, — we but swept on ; 

Then lo ! a flash of flame, 
A sound of thunder, — ha, my boy, 

And thus began our game ! 

How roared the cannon, sang the bombs, 

And whistled shell and shot ; 
How crashed their splintered masts and spars 

As all the air grew hot ! 

248 



THE SONG OF MANILA. 



How worked our tars, — a hero each, — 

Their sooty breasts swelled high, 
Remembering that on us was fixed 

Our country's grateful eye ! 

And that while through black clouds of smoke 

The snln gleamed fiery red, 
There flew, with every star undimmed, 

Old Glory overhead ! 

And through it all God's hand, my boy, 

In this fierce fight was plain ; 
Not one brave lad of ours fell dead, 

As we avenged the Maine / 

But scores of Spanish, — and they, too, 

Had done their duty well, — 
May God have mercy on their souls, 

Be they in heaven or hell ! 

Their ships we captured, sunk or burned, 

And live a thousand years, 
I'll thank the Lord I, too, was there, — 

Hear still our ringing cheers ! 

Hail to our noble Commodore, 

For deeds so glorious done, 
Praise to a greater Captain still, 

For such a victory won. 

249 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



As echoing through all time, will tell 

About Manila Bay, 
What manhood dared, how freedom fought, 

On that immortal day ! 

— Stuart Sterne. 



250 



THE RED AND THE BLUE. 



£0e (geb an& t$t (gfue. 

/^\H, Johnny Bull ! you know, John, 

" Since we have been acquaint," 
Your many little tricks would try 

The patience of a saint. 
But with the world against you 

A sturdy front you show ; 
I guess we'll have to back you, 

And let old bygones go ! 

You've proved a valiant foe, John, 

In many a bloody fight ; 
So now we'll stand together, 

And strike for truth and right. 
And should the foreign beagles 

Bay the lion in his lair, 
You'll find the Yankee eagle's 

Beak and talons will be bare ! 

What though our name be changed, John, 
It has not changed the breed, 

Both stately trees have sprung from 
The Anglo-Saxon seed. 

Both nations' rights are equal, 
Wrung from a monarch's greed, 

251 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Our Seventy-six the sequel 
Of glorious Runnymede ! 

Grip hands across the ocean, 

And should there come a time, — 
When needed, — I've a notion 

You'll see the " thin red line." 
With shoulder pressed to shoulder, 

Stanch friends and comrades true, 
Old England's scarlet Tommies, 

And our bold boys in blue. 

Fling out the red cross banner ! 

Too long has it been furled. 
We'll plant " Old Glory " by its side 

And then defy the world ! 
Woe to the foreign foemen 

Who front the battle-line, 
Where Johnny's cross and Sammy's stars 

Their colors bright entwine ! 

— H. A.Roby. 



252 



THE NEW TOREADOR. 



$0e (Tteia $otea&or. 

"DRAVO, Jonathan ! Now's your time, — 
We're getting tired of brag and bluster, 
Make a bid for the true sublime, — 

Add to honor the final lustre. 
Banderillos were very well, 

Waving scarfs and avoiding dances ; 
Now comes the struggle, — who can tell 

Upon which side are the better chances? 

Wait till the ring begins to hum, 

Ramping and snorting, stamping, raging, 
With blare of trumpets and roll of drums, 

But doesn't quite know whom he's engaging. 
Wait there, Jonathan, calm and cool ; 

More than your match some people think him. 
Never mind that, — keep cool, and you'll 

Remain unhurt while you deftly pink him. 

Steady, Jonathan ! All mankind 

Gazes at you in silent wonder. 
Most, to your virtues deaf and blind, 

Think your attitude's just a blunder. 
Britain, however, is stanch and true, 

On your side are our hearts enlisted ! 

253 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Maybe, sir, 'twill occur to you 

That we might turn the tail you've often twisted. 



Blood of our blood, we are all for you, 

Against whomever you make attacks on. 
The racial tie, though strained, holds true. 

" Bully for you ! " cries the Anglo-Saxon. 
Moral support is all you need, 

Else had we strode " the ring " together, — 
Until the wide world's saved and freed, 

Bound are we in a moral tether. 



Stand firm, Jonathan, let him come. 

What's the use of some little brushes ? 
Wait till the ring begins to hum 

With the wildest rush of his angry rushes. 
Stand firm, Jonathan ! He's at bay ; 

His wrath he never can calm or smother. 
Stand you firm, for the coming fray 

Means death for one or death for the other. 



One of his breed, long years ago, 

With desperate, deadly, stern insistence, 

With equal wrath and greater show 
Threatened our national existence. 

254 



THE NEW TOREADOR. 



Then we baited him, — drove him back, — 
The old sea-dogs rushed out to meet him ; 

Taught him a lesson in attack ; 

Showed him how Englishmen meant to greet him. 

Feebler son of that far-off sire, — 

Still he'll fight, for there's no retreating ; 
Feebler, aye, but the self-same ire, 

Still a foe who will take some beating. 
Stand firm, Jonathan, — show your pluck ; 

S6oner or later you're bound to meet him. 
Face him valiantly, and, with luck 

Helping you, you will soundly beat him. 

Yours the strength of the Saxon race, 

Heart of oak, in its steel nerves banded, 
Death and danger you still may face, 

Open foe or the underhanded. 
Quietly does it. Wait his rush, — 

Keep your power still undiminished. 
Strike, as upon you he seems to crush, — 

Strike, and the deadly fray is finished. 

Bravo, Jonathan ! Now's your time. 
Gone forever the days of bluster. 

255 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Make a bid for the true sublime 

With all the power that you can muster. 

Banderillos were very well, 

Waving scarfs and avoiding dances ; 

Now comes the struggle ; skill will tell, 

Conquering weight and compelling chances. 

— London Fun. 



256 



BENEATH THE FLAG. 



(genectf0 f($e Sfag. 

f~\ N the sunny hillside sleeping, 

On the calm and placid plain, 
By the rivers swiftly sweeping, 

By the rudely roaring main, 
Lie the men who saved the nation 

In the dark hour long ago, 
Meeting death with proud elation 

From a brave but erring foe. 

In their earthly sleep unending 

Do the nations martyred sons 
Hear the war shouts hoarsely blending 

With the booming of the guns ? 
Do they quicken at the rattle 

As the mighty band sweeps by? 
Do they see that still in battle 

Heroes rise to do or die ? 



Let us hope these warriors knighted 
In the bright hereafter know 

That our nation firm united 
Faces now a common foe ; 

257 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



That beneath the dear Old Glory, 
Clearing freedom's splendid way, 

Adding lustre to its story, 

Side by side march Blue and Gray ! 

— Cleveland Plain Dealer. 



258 



PATRIOTISM AT SQUAWVILLE. 



(patriotism at Jiquatofciffe. 

'TMMES is mighty dull at Squawville, an' we've 

nothin' else to do, 
Fur to serve as daily pastime and to keep from gittin' 

blue, 
But to loaf around the gin-mill an' discuss the latest 

news, 
An' absorb the fiery substance known to scientists as 

booze. 
A-discussin' of the rumpus with the Spaniards, pro 

and con, 
Has become the leadin' feature ; we begin the gab at 

dawn 
When we sip our mornin' bracer, an' we talk about 

the fight 
Till we go a-whoopin' homeward quite how-come- 

you-so at night. 

There's a dif'rence of opinion as to how the powers 

that are 
Back at Washington assembled should proceed to 

run the war; 
But upon the vital question that ol' Cuba should be 

free 
As a comprehensive unit we unanimous agree. 

259 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



As the news kep' gittin' hotter all our patr'otism riz, 
In a figgerative manner, till you 'most could hear 

it sizz, 
An' at frequent intermissions while a chawin' of the 

rag, 
We would cheer fur Uncle Samuel an' the country 

an' the flag. 

Never had a bit o' trouble on the argumentive deal 
Till ol' Poker Billy Davis made a quite disloyal 

squeal 
By a-sayin' that he soldiered fur the cause that's 

vanished hence, 
An' he's never liked a Yankee wuth a continental 

sence. 
He had hit the bowl that mornin' in a too extensive 

way, 
Which undoubtedly accounted fur his wild an' fatal 

play; 
Fur his craziness resulted in the diggin' of a hole, 
An' a mortuary drama, — William in the leadin' role. 

We jes' grabbed the boozy blower, an' we run him 

to the bar, 
An' we made him drink a swaller to each indivijul 

star 

260 



PATRIOTISM AT SQUAWVILLE. 



On the flag he had insulted, till we filled him to the 

throat, 
An' till every vital organ in his system was afloat. 
Sich a load o' liquid pizen would have killed* an army 

mule, 
Which was what the stuff accomplished fur the 

Yankee-hatin' fool, 
An' the only one that mourned him was ol' Crazy 

Jane McGill, 
Her that runs the boardin' shanty, whom the same he 

owed a bill. 

— Denver Post. 



261 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e (Buar&sman, 

TV /T Y brother Jim, he's in the regiment, an' he 

Says he's goin' down to fight 
Soon as the soldiers ever start, an' gee ! 

Maybe they'll go to-night ! 
He's got a suit just like a p'liceman, too, 

An' soldier cap an' gun. 
He says they'll show the folks what they can do, 

He thinks it'll be fun ! 

But ma, she says she don't want him to go, 

'Cause she's afraid, I guess. 
An' so, las' night she was a-cryin' so 

When Jim said that unless 
She'd want to have a coward for a son 

He'd have to go an' fight, 
That seemed just like she never would get done, 

But cried an' cried all night. 

An' sis told Jim that if they went away 

She thought it was a shame, 
An' cried when Jim said 'twas a lucky day 

To show that we are game ; 
Sis liked Jim in his suit an' cap, an' so 

I thought she wouldn't care, 

262 



THE GUARDSMAN. 

But she took on an' cried just like as though 
He's goin' to die down there ! 

But pa, you know he never said a word, 

Just like he couldn't talk. 
But just shook hands with Jim, like this, real 
hard, 

An' went to take a walk ; 
An' bimeby I went out to try an' meet 

The kids, you know, an' do 
Something, an' pa was walkin' up the street, 

An' he was cryin', too. 

— Frank X. Finnegan. 



263 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e <£oice of f0e Oregon. 

"YTTJU have called to me, my brothers, from your 

far-off eastern sea, 
To join with you, my brothers, to set a prostrate 

people free. 
You have called to me, my brothers, to join to yours 

my might, 
The slaughterers of our brethren with our armored 

hands to smite. 



We have never met, my brothers, we mailed knights 
of the sea ; 

But there are no strangers, brothers, 'neath the Ban- 
ner of the Free ; 

And though half a world's between us, and ten 
thousand leagues divide, 

Our souls are intermingled, and our hearts are side 
by side. 

Did you fail to call me, brothers, 'twere a fault 

without atone, 
'Twas but just to me, my brothers, you should not 

strike alone. 

264 



THE VOICE OF THE OREGON. 



The brethren in the slaughter were no more thine 

than mine, 
And the blows that visit vengeance must be mine 

as well as thine. 

Through days of placid beauty, and nights when 

tempests toss, 
I follow down the billows, my guide the Southern 

Cross ; 
Past lands of quiet splendor, where pleasant waters 

lave ; 
Past lands whose mountain ramparts fling back the 

crashing wave. 

But I see no land of splendor, and I see no land 

of wrath ; 
I see before me only the ocean's heaving path, 
And I plunge along that pathway like a giant to the 

fray, 
Who hath no stomach in him for aught that might 

delay. 

I am nearing you, my brothers, for the western sea's 
afar, 

And the ray that lights my course now is the gleam- 
ing Northern Star. 

265 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



I pray you wait, my brothers, for the air with war is 

rife, 
And in courtesy of knighthood I claim to share the 

strife. 

In the winds that blow about me the voices of the 

dead 
Are calling to me, brothers, to urge my topmost 

speed. 
In the foam that's upward flying in whirling wreaths 

of white, 
The wraiths of murdered brothers beckon onward 

to the fight. 

I am coming to you, brothers, wait but a little while, 
And on the thunders of our greeting shall the God 

of Vengeance smile ; 
And in the flashing and the crashing, the universe 

shall see 
How we pay our debts of honor, we mailed knights 

of the sea. 

— H. J. D. Browne. 



266 



WAR POEM. 



War (Jpoem. 

C TRIKE for the Anglo-Saxon ! 

Strike for the Newer Day ! 
Oh, strike for Heart, and strike for 
Brain, 
And sweep the Beast away. 

Not only for our sailors, 
The heroes of the Maine, 

But strike for all the victims 
Of Moloch-minded Spain. 

Not only for the Present, 
But all the Bloody Past, 

Oh, strike for all the martyrs 
That have their hour at last. 

Old stronghold of the Darkness, 
Come, ruin it with light ! 

It is no fight of small revenge, 
'Tis an immortal fight. 

Spain is an ancient dragon, 
That all too long hath curled 

Its coils of blood and darkness 
About the new-born world. 

267 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Think of the Inquisition ! 

Think of the Netherlands ! 
Yea, think of all Spain's bloody deeds 

In many times and lands. 

And let no feeble pity 

Your sacred arms restrain. 
This is God's mighty moment 

To make an end of Spain. 

— Richard La Gallienne. 



268 



THE VOLUNTEER 



£0e tyofunfeer. 

T'HE band was playing " Dixie " when he marched, 
marched away ; 

An' never any likelier lad stept time to it that day ; 

" The finest fellow of 'em all ! " I heard the town- 
folk say. 

The band was playin' " Dixie " as he marched, 
marched away. 

How fast my wild arms held him, — my boy, who 

would not stay, — 
The likeliest lad that answered to the captain's call 

that day! 
" The finest fellow of 'em all ! " An' in the red array 
Of flags that rippled over them they marched my 

lad away ! 

But a mother's fears and prayers and tears were 
nothing. War must slay, 

And the draped, deep drums were muffled as they 
brought him home that day! 

" The finest fellow of 'em all ! " I heard the town- 
folk say, 

And his mother bendin' over him, — dead at her feet 
that day ! 

— Frank L. Stanton. 

269 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(gegtmenf JJong. 

'THE old flag is a-doin' of her very level best, — 
She's a rainbow roun' the country from the 
rosy east to west; 
An' the eagle's in the elements with sunshine on his 
breast, 
An' we're marchin' with the country in the 



We're marchin' to the music that is ringin' fur an 

nigh; 
You kin hear the hallelujahs as the regiments go by ; 
We'll live for this old country, or in Freedom's cause 
we'll die, — 
We're marchin' with the country in the mornin' ! 
— Frank L. Stanton. 



270 



A PEACE -AT -ANY -PRICE MAN. 



" V\ 7"AR is coming ! Blood must flow ! " 

Mary, get my satchel packed — 
" We must meet the craven foe ! " — 

Mary, get my satchel packed — 
" There are wrongs that we must right. 
Freeborn men, prepare to fight ; 
'Tis no time for childish fright " — 

Mary, get my satchel packed ! 

" Now let all the world give ear " — 
Mary, get my satchel packed — 

« We've begged for war for half a year " - 
Mary, get my satchel packed — 

" The President, at last, is stirred ! 

We have spoken, — he has heard, — 

Now, then, for the final word " — 
Mary, get my satchel packed ! 

Clouds of war obscure the sky " — 
Mary, get my satchel packed — 

Cuba's hope is mounting high " — 
Mary, get my satchel packed — 

271 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

" Let our tars prepare to fight, 
Let them battle for the right " - 

I start for Halifax to-night, 
Mary, get my satchel packed ! 

— Baltimore Life 



2'JZ 



UNCLE SAM'S SPRING CLEANING. 



QJncfe JJam's JJpring Citaningi. 

"HP HE RE has been a heap of rubbish dumped 
about the patient seas, 
And all cleaning hitherto has been a sham ; 
It is time for my spring cleaning, — and I hope you 
catch my meaning, — 
For I'm going to clean 'em out," says Uncle 
Sam. 
" And I'm going to rinse 'em down, 
And I'm going to soak 'em out, 

And I'm going to sponge 'em off, and make 'em 
clean ; 
And I'll do a handsome job with my scrubbing 
brush and swab, 
And I'll give a different aspect to the scene. 

" On the Philippines, a dumpground for the mediae- 
val truck, 
And the old miasmal rubbish heaps of Spain, 
I began my vernal cleaning, — and I think they 
know my meaning, — 
For I turned my hose upon them at full strain, 
And I guess I swabbed 'em down, 
And I guess I rubbed it in, 

273 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And I guess I swashed 'em off, and made 'em 
clean ; 
And when I've wiped 'em dry with my army mop, 
says I, 
There'll be a different aspect to the scene. 

" And I'll clean off Porto Rico, and I'm going to 
wipe it dry, 
And poor filth-infested Cuba must be clean ; 
Four hundred years of lumber that its rubbish holes 
encumber, — 
If you wait you'll see it burn like kerosene. 
And I guess I'll soap 'em down, 
And I guess I'll scour 'em off, 
And I guess I'll turn my hose on at full strain; 
And then, when I am through, then old Cuba will 
be new, 
And there won't be any rubbish heaps of Spain. 

"She has blotted all the oceans, and I'll wipe her 
off the seas, 
And I'll cleanse the cluttered islands of her slime; 
And this is just the meaning of my vigorous spring 
cleaning, — 
Fate's washing day has come, — and it is time ! 
And I guess when I have soaped 'em, 

274 






UNCLE SAM'S SPRING CLEANING. 



And I guess when I have wrung 'em, 

And I guess when I have hung 'em out to dry, 

Not a single blot of Spain on an island shall 
remain, 
And think that they'll feel cleaner then, says I." 

— Sam Walter Foss. 



275 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e $0anfom0. 

'THE phantom sea serenely blue 

Beneath the sunshine lay, 
And bold Cervera sailed his ships 

Through clouds of phantom spray ; 
With phantom skill he steered his fleet 

For many a phantom day. 

One phantom morn the lookout cried, 

" A sail ! I see a sail ! " 
The bold Cervera, undismayed, 

Turned 'round, and then turned pale ; 
Then tried to turn the subject, and 

Concluded to turn tail. 

But closer to Cervera drew 
That strangely foreign craft ; 

"Is she a Yank ? " Cervera cried ; 
For answer phantom laugh t- 

Er rolled across the phantom foam, 
Like merriment gone daft. 

" Wie gehts, alretty, vonce again ! " 

Came to Cervera's ear ; 
" Ve haf peen looging ouid py you 

Dis many und many a year ; 

276 



THE PHANTOMS. 

Und now, py Chimineddy, ve 
Are glat to see you here ! " 

" Oh, who are you ? " Cervera cried, 

With terror in each tone. 
" I vos der Flying Dutchman, yet ! " 

Came through the megaphone ; 
" Und I am glat dot nefermore 

I'll sail der sea alone." 

And so, across the phantom deep, 

And through the phantom spray, 
Through phantom storms, and phantom 
calms, 
Through phantom night and day, 
The Flying Dutchman and the Fly- 
ing Spaniard sail for aye. 

— Baltimore News. 



277 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e Jgeiroic ©eafc. 

'T^HEY are not dead whose names we 
breathe 

With trembling voice and tear-dimmed 
eyes, 
For whom the marble shaft we wreathe 

With garlands of immortal dyes ; 
Not dead, — they sleep, while angel guards 

Patrol their camp on every hand ; 
Sweet rest at last their toil rewards 

Who sought to save their leaguered land. 

When Liberty assailed, oppressed, 

Raised up her voice against the wrong, 
O loyal sons of dauntless breast, 

How firm ye stood in cordon strong. 
A hero's soul in every eye 

Fired with a hero's purpose grand, 
For liberty, if need, to die, 

Or, living, for her cause to stand. 

The screaming shot, the bursting shell, 
The long-roll echoing through the night, 

To lead the charge 'mid groan and yell, 
The deadly struggle might with might. 

278 



THE HEROIC DEAD. 



The bivouac on the bloody field 

Racked with the pangs of wounds and 
thirst, 

Too weak to fly — too brave to yield — 
With bitterness of death accurst. 

The horrors of the prison pen, 

Whence few who entered ever came, 
Starvation in a loathsome den 

Where life was death and hope a name ; 
All these and more these heroes dared 

That freedom's light might shine afar, 
Each breast to death was freely bared 

Amid the wild alarm of war. 

Again across Columbia's plains 

The war trump peals its thrilling blast, 
Once more it sings in stirring strains 

The glorious triumphs of the past ; 
The answering tread of mustering hosts, 

The land aglow with bivouac fires, 
Proclaim that still our Union boasts 

Sons brave and loyal as their sires. 

These graves with tears of love bedew, 
And deck them with the bloom of May 

In honor of the boys in blue, 
In memory of the boys in gray. 

279 . 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



No more opposed in deadly strife, 

Brother to brother, sire to son, 
They proved their valor life for life, 

Now side by side they sleep, — as one. 

Sleep on, brave hearts, and take your rest, 
A hundred million strong and free 

Shall guard in each heroic breast 

- Your pure and priceless legacy. 

'Twas not in vain, O noble band, 
Your blood imbued Columbia's sod, 

United now her children stand, — 
One flag, one country, and one God. 

— Geo. D. Emery. 



280 



STRIKE THE BLOW. 



§ttifo ffle $fote. 

'THE four-way winds of the world have blown, 

And the ships have ta'en the wave ; 
The legions march to the trumps' shrill call 
'Neath the flag of the free and brave. 
The hounds of the sea 
Have trailed the foe, 
They have trailed and tracked him down, — 
Then wait no longer, but strike, O land, 
With the dauntless strength of thy strong 

right hand, 
Strike the blow ! 

The armored fleets, with their grinning guns, 

Have the Spaniard in his lair ; 
They have tracked him down where the ramparts 
frown, 
And they'll halt and hold him there. 
They have steamed in his wake, 

They have seen him go, 
They have bottled and corked him up ; 
Then send him home to the underfoam, 
Till the wide sea shakes to the far blue 

dome ; 
Strike the blow ! 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

The Cuban dead arid the dying call, 

The children starved in the light 
Of the aid that waits till the hero deed 
Breaks broad on the tyrant's might. 
The starved and the weak 

In their hour of woe 
Are calling, land, on thee ; 

Then why delay in thy dauntless sway ? 
On, on, to the charge of the freedom-way, 
Strike the blow ! 

They have ta'en the winds of the Carib seas, 

Thy fleets that know not fear ; 
Their ribs of steel have yearned to reel 
In the dance of the cannoneer. 
Thy sons of the blue 

That wait to go 
Would leap with a will to the charge, 

Then send them the word so long deferred ; 
They have listened late, but they have not 

heard ; 
Strike the blow ! 

They have listened late in the desolate land, 
They have looked through brimming eyes, 

And starving women have held dead babes 
To their heart with a thousand sighs. 

282 



STRIKE THE BLOW. 



On, on to the end, 

O land, the foe 
Beneath thy sword shall fall, 

Thy ships of steel have tracked them home, 

Ye are king of the land and king of the foam 

Strike the blow ! 

— F. McK. 



283 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Jgofb ©of §otf, fot tye nOos Coming. 

TJ AUL in der plank, full speed ahead, — 
Undt so dose shteamers sailed avay, 
Undt tears undt prayers dose ships go mit, 

Undt aching hearts pehind dem shtay. 
Vhen dose ships pass der Golden Gate, 

Undt dot Pacific's swell dey feel, 
Vat strike deir pows, vat lap deir sides, 

Undt quiver dem from truck to keel, 

Say, den a chill vos in mein plood, 

I lifd mein eyes oop to der sky, 
Undt from each ship vat sailed avay, 

I see Old Glory masthead high. 
" Mein Gott," I cried, " I vos olt mans, 

But nefer I see dot pefore, 
Dot Yankee ships mit soltjer poys 

Vos sailing for a foreign shore." 

Mit swords undt peestols, undt mit guns, — 
Mit all war's horrid tools dey go. 

To haf a picnic ? — No, mein Gott, 
To pattle mit a foreign foe. 



HOLD DOT FORT, FOR VE VOS COMING. 



I'd gif von halluf ov mein life, 

Ohf by Manila I could shtand, 
Vhen Dewey hear dose vistles scream, 

Undt Merritt shake dot hero's hand. 

Some kings vat lif across der sea — 

Undt Emp'ror Villiam he vos one — 
Dey shpeak mean dings der Yankees ov, 

Undt Villiam he haf blendy fun. 
Veil, Villiam, all your poys vat lif 

In Yankee land, dey vos true blue, 
But in der f aderland — oh, veil — 

When Shpain vos licked ve shpeak mit 
you. 

— Hans Von Dunkerfoodle. 



285 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Zfyi J^wiiarb $nsiDereb. 

The Americans are a cowardly race. — Spanish Newspaper. 

AITE are not a warlike nation; here of old our 
fathers settled, 
Seeking scope for their opinions, in the log house 
and the hut ; 
Seeking elbow room and freedom, sober men and 
quiet mettled, 
Almost too religious, maybe, peaceful-minded peo- 
ple; but — 

Since they wished to farm the meadows, wished to 
go to church on Sunday, 
And the redskin would annoy them with his lust 
for human hair, 
From far Georgia to the south'ard, to the misty shore 
of Fundy, 
Flintlocks kept the plough a-going, bullets helped 
to speed the prayer. 

We are not a warlike nation ; though the blood we 
brought was ruddy, 
We preferred its cherry runnels in the veins kept 
tightly shut. 

286 



THE SPANIARD ANSWERED. 



We had thews for farm and fishnet ; we had brains 
to scheme and study ; 
Brawn and brain for peace and quiet, — that was 
all we wanted ; but — 

Ask the fields of sleepy Concord, ask old wrecked 
Ticonderoga, 
Of the cost of unjust taxes and old bottles for new 
wine! 
Something more than glass was broken on the heights 
of Saratoga, 
And the tax was paid at Yorktown by the stiff old 
buff-blue line. 

We are not a warlike nation; patterned, rather, for 
keen trading ; 
Some will say the style is English, that from them 
we get the cut ; 
East and west our ships went speeding, decks awash 
from heavy lading, 
Bowsprits poked in every harbor, never seeking 
quarrels ; but — 

When our rich Levant trade came, and Tripoli 
claimed tribute from it, — 
Tribute paid by other navies trading down the 
midland sea, — 

287 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



We, the least and last of nations, blew her gunboats 
to Mahomet, 
Blew the faithful to their houris, made the straits 
forever free. 

We are not a warlike nation ; we had states to form 
and settle, 
We had stuffs to manufacture, till our markets 
felt the glut ; 
We were busy getting headway, busy panning out 
the metal 
From the human dust that reached us from the 
old-world digging ; but — 

We could slow up for a moment, just to show our 
elder brother 
That the bird we put our faith in was not stuffed 
upon his perch ; 
And we told him through the cannon, in the sea 
fights' reek and smother, 
We had searched the Scripture duly, but had 
found no " right to search." 

We are not a warlike nation ; peace sometimes keeps 
men's souls sleeping ; 
Some of us still sought our harvests in the old 
barbaric rut 

288 



THE SPANIARD ANSWERED. 



Worn by captive feet, till, one day, party feeling 
upward leaping, 
Broke into a flame and blazed on all the startled 
nations; but — 

When the smoke from red fields lifted, when the 
armies were disbanded, — 
Better armies, all the world knows, never cartridge 
bit or rammed, — 
Proud of their own deeds, and proud, too, of the men 
who, lighter handed, 
Fought them long and ofttimes whipped them, 
slavery was dead and damned. 

We are not a warlike nation ; we love life far more 
than dying ; 
We have little time for swagger and the military 
strut ; 
Let old Europe pay big armies ; we have better fish 
for frying, 
We have nobler tools for manhood than the sword 
and rifle ; but — 

Since we are a Christian nation, and the blood our 
veins are filled with — 
Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, Teuton — will not keep for- 
ever cool, 

289 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



When we see weak women starving, helpless, ill- 
starred children killed with 
Filthy water, air empoisoned, just to eke out Span- 
ish rule ; 

Since we find that Cuba's Cuban, and the Spaniard 
but a tenant 
Who defiles the house he lives in, then our duty 
stands out plain ; 
We are masters in these waters, at the mainmast 
flies our pennant, 
End this hell on earth, or, hark ye, eastward lies 
the path to Spain ! 

— Robert Cameron Rogers. 



290 



A SONG FOR THE FLEET. 



$ ^ong fot tye §feet 

A SONG for them one and all, 

The sister-ships of the Maine, 
They have sailed at a nation's battle-call 
To save a land from a tyrant's thrall 
That has struggled long in vain! 

The coming days shall speak 

The praise of our valiant tars ! 
No fear they will wanting prove, or weak, 
When proudly flutters from every peak 

The glorious stripes and stars ! 

Then cheer for the flag unfurled 

On the dawn of that Sabbath day, 
When the shot that the gallant Dewey hurled 
Crushed the hopes of the Spanish world, 
In the far Manila Bay ! 

And a cheer for the valorous ones 

Who are girt for the gory fight, 
Where the tropic tide-race swirls and runs 
Under the frown of the Morro's guns — 

And God be with the right ! 

— Clinton Scollard. 

291 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



War 3E>£mn. 



/^VH, rise up in your glorious might, 
America, America! 

Destroy the wrong, defend the right, 
America, America ! 

Oh, see the pleading hand outheld, 

Behold the fetters tyrants weld ; 

And shall thine aid be still withheld? 
America, America ! 



Thy sons are loyal, brave, and true, 

America, America! 
They're burning now to dare and do, 

America, America! 
No brother looks to thee in vain ; 
We'll crush the power of cruel Spain ; 
Remembered be the martyred Maine. 

America, America ! 

Then give three cheers for Dewey, true, 

America, America ! 
And for the grand Red, White, and Blue, 

America, America! 

292 



WAR HYMN. 



Our ships are victors on the sea, 
And Cuba shall be, must be free ! 
All honor do we give to thee, 
America, America! 

— Beidah R. Stevens. 



293 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e JSocirin' o' f0e (Ea^fe. 

r\H, we met the Spanish squadron 

In the choppy China Sea ; 
With " Old Glory " up above us, 

And our Commodore Dewey ; 
And a brace of Yankee seamen 
(Every fightin' tar a freeman) — 
And the way we trounced the haughty Dons 

Was beautiful to see. 

We shelled 'em out to seaward, — 

And we shelled 'em on the shore ; 
And we trained our guns to leeward 

For a hundred shots or more ; 
For the rag that hung above us, 
And the Yankee hearts that love us — 
Why, we made the eagle hump himself 
And show 'em how to soar. 

Oh, the decks was slippin' bloody, 
And the guns was smokin' hot ; 

And the centre o' the scrimmage 
Was an interestin' spot ; 

And the beggars kept salutin' 

In a disrespectful shootin' 

294 






THE SOARIN' O' THE EAGLE. 



Till we sent 'em Yankee manners 
In a dozen ton of shot. 

Our ears was full o' cotton, 

And our legs was all a-reel ; 
But the Yankee grit was in us, 

And our guns was full o' steel ; 
And we kept the Greasers hoppin' 
With the shells that we was droppin' 
Till we filled 'em full o' blazin' hell 
From reekin' deck to keel. 

Oh, we bored 'em full o' trouble 

As a sieve is full o' holes ; 
And we chucked 'em under water 

Like a nest o' drownded moles. 
With the blessin' o' Saint Mary 
And the Yankee military — 
Why, we give 'em twenty volleys 

For the restin' o' their souls. 

They fought us square and honest, 
And they spoiled our purty shine ; 

And they went down game as chickens 
When we sunk 'em in the brine ; 

For while the eagle's screamin', 

And the stars and stripe's a-streamin', 

295 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Why, we hain't the boys to say it, — 
That they didn't toe the line. 

Oh, they thought they'd have a bull-fight 
With your Uncle Sammy's crew ; 

And they figgered out that dodgin' 
Was the proper thing to do. 

But they missed their calculation 

In a-sizin' up the nation, — 

Cause there hain't no room fer Spaniards 
When the eagle soars the blue. 

— Marion Franklin Ham. 



296 



THE CALL TO THE COLORS. 



$0e Caff to tyt Cofowu 

" A RE you ready, O Virginia, 

Alabama, Tennessee ? 
People of the Southland, answer ! 

For the land hath need of thee." 
" Here ! " from sandy Rio Grande, 

Where the Texan horsemen ride ; 
" Here ! " the hunters of Kentucky 

Hail from Chatterawha's side ; 
Every toiler in the cotton, 

Every rugged mountaineer, 
Velvet-voiced and iron-handed, 

Lifts his head to answer, " Here ! 
Some remain who charged with Pickett, 

Some survive who followed Lee ; 
They shall lead their sons to battle 

For the flag, if need there be." 

" Are you ready, California, 

Arizona, Idaho ? 
' Come, oh, come, unto the colors ! ' 

Heard you not the bugle blow ? " 
Falls a hush in San Francisco 

In the busy hives of trade ; 

297 






POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



In the vineyards of Sonoma 

Fall the pruning knife and spade ; 
In the mines of Colorado 

Pick and drill are thrown aside ; 
Idly in Seattle harbor 

Swing the merchants to the tide ; 
And a million mighty voices 

Throb responsive like a drum, 
Rolling from the rough Sierras, 

" You have called us, and we come.' 



O'er Missouri sounds the challenge — 

O'er the great lakes and the plain ; 
" Are you ready, Minnesota ? 

Are you ready, men of Maine ? " 
From the woods of Ontonagon, 

From the farms of Illinois, 
From the looms of Massachusetts, 

" We are ready, man and boy." 
Axemen free, of Androscoggin, 

Clerks who trudge the cities' paves, 
Gloucester men who drag their plunder 

From the sullen, hungry waves, 
Big-boned Swede and large-limbed 
German, 

Celt and Saxon swell the call, 

298 



THE CALL TO THE COLORS. 

And the Adirondacks echo : 
" We are ready, one and all." 

Truce to feud and peace to faction ! 

All forgot is party zeal 
When the war-ships clear for action, 

When the blue battalions wheel. 
Europe boasts her standing armies, — 

Serfs who blindly fight by trade ; 
We have seven million soldiers, 

And a soul guides every blade. 
Laborers with arm and mattock, 

Laborers with brain and pen, 
Railroad prince and railroad brakeman 

Build our line of fighting men. 
Flag of righteous wars ! close mustered 

Gleam the bayonets, row on row, 
Where thy stars are sternly clustered, 

With their daggers towards the foe. 

— New York Mail and Express. 



299 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



T^ROM Cuban shores in ceaseless pain, 

Out of the calling sea, 
Long cried the Spirit of the Maine, 
" Will ye remember me ? " 

At last the laggard answer comes 

From 'neath the Eastern suns, 
Borne westward on the thundering roll, 

The deep song of the guns. 

From where the war winds shrieked and 
sang, 

The battle bugles blew, 
And deathless names in history sprang, 

Proud as man ever knew. 

Comes the wild, wailing voice of Spain, — 

While o'er her war-ships stir 
Such waves as wash the martyred Maine, — 

" Ye have remembered her ! " 

— James Lindsay Gordon. 



300 



A SONG FOR THE HOUR. 



$ JJong for f0e gout. 

T ET Tyranny tremble and Cowardice quake, 
The people have spoken, — their flag is un- 
furled, 
And now for our God and humanity's sake, 
Let Mars' mighty thunders awaken the world. 

The sobs of the suffering appeal not in vain ; 

Columbia has lifted her radiant shield, 
And it's woe to despotic and blood-shedding Spain, 

When Freedom's brave knighthood has taken the 
field. 

The wrath of the Nation is kindled at last, 
And Liberty's light shall illumine the sky, 

The Faith of our fathers, that hallows our past, 
Proclaims from their dust that the despot must 
die. 

No longer we parley with tyrants for truce ; 

Let the war-drum make music to clashing of 
steel, — 
The eagle has screamed and the war-dogs are 
loose, — 
And it's woe to Havana and woe to Castile. 

— William F. Dunbar. 

301 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



/ T*0 the men who fought with Decatur, 

To the men who with Lawrence died, 
To the men who fell in that blazing hell 

Of Mobile by Farragut's side ; 
Take to them our message stern and plain, 
Tell them the guns are cast loose again, 
Men of the Maine! 

This to the men of the ships of oak 

From the men of the ships of steel, 
To the hearts that broke 'mid the flame and 
smoke 
From the living hearts that feel, 
There is no mizzen, nor fore, nor main, 
But all of the flags are aloft again, 
Men of the Maine / 

Not against foes of our own true blood, 

Nor kin across the sea, 
But straight in the face of a stranger race 

Who never, like you, were free. 
Tell them 'tis thus that our guns we train, 
And the sights are lined, and the strings astrain, 
Men of the Maine / 

302 



A MESSAGE. 



Take them these tidings, ye who sleep 

'Neath the murky waves by the Cuban town, 
The blow in the night but began the fight 
Which ends when the Spanish flag comes 
down, 
And our guns shall thunder their old refrain 
Tolling your knell from here — to Spain ! 
Men of the Maine ! 

—P.B. 



3°3 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



3n f#e £ime of JJfrife. 

"\1 7"E may not know 

How red the lilies of the spring shall grow ; 
What silver flood, 
Sea-streaming, take the crimson tints of blood. 

We may not know 
If victory shall make the bugles blow; 

If still shall wave 
The flag above our freedom or our grave. 

We only know 
One heart, one hand, one country, meet the foe ; 

On land and sea 
Her liegemen in the battle of the free. 

— Frank L. Stanton. 



3°4 



THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE. 



$0e (JJtatfErs of f0e (gtaine. 

AND they have thrust our shattered dead away in 

foreign graves, 
Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor 
craves ! 
They trusted once in Spain, 
They're trusting her again ! 

And with the holy care of our own sacred slain ! 
No, no, the Stripes and Stars 
Must wave above our tars. 

Bring them home ! 



On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles 

lie 
In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now 
they seem to cry 
From out their bivouac : 
" Here every good man Jack 
Belongs. Nowhere but here — with us. 
So bring them back." 
And on the Cuban gales 
A ghostly rumor wails, 

" Bring us home ! " 

305 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, 

the dust, 
The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in 
trust ! 
But heroes, too, were these 
Who sentinel'd the seas 
And gave their lives to shelter us in careless 

ease. 
Shall we desert them, slain, 
And proffer them to Spain 

As alien mendicants, — these martyrs of our 
Maine f 

No ! Bring them home ! 

— Rupert Hughes. 



306 



DIES IRAE. 



©ies 3rae. 

VXTHERE is the heritage that once was Spain's — 
Half the proud world with endless riches 
piled ? 
Ah, all hath vanished ; nothing now remains 
Save one sad island, — one unhappy child, — 

Cuba, last daughter of the Western seas, 
Gaunt victim of the she-wolf's ruthless spoil, 

Whose piteous moans rise on each passing breeze, 
While drop by drop her life-blood damps the soil. 

Four hundred years ! God's vengeance tarrieth late ; 

And yet, at last ! the day of wrath hath come ; 
Columbia, bare thy steel ! The nations wait 

To see thee drive the keen-edged weapon home ! 



307 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

tfyoBt (gefief Sfags. 

Discussed by " One of the Yanks." 

Q HALL we send back the Johnnies their bunting, 

In token, from Blue to the Gray, 
That " Brothers-in-blood " and " Good Hunting " 

Shall be our new watchword to-day ? 
In olden times knights held it knightly 

To return to brave foemen the sword ; 
Will the Stars and the Stripes gleam less 
brightly 
If the old Rebel flags are restored ? 

Call it sentiment, call it misguided 

To fight to the death for " a rag ; " 
Yet, trailed in the dust, derided, 

The true soldier still loves his flag ! 
Does love die, and must honor perish 

When colors and causes are lost ? 
Lives the soldier who ceases to cherish 

The blood-stains and valor they cost? 

Our battle-fields, safe in the keeping 
Of Nature's kind, fostering care, 

308 



THOSE REBEL FLAGS. 



Are blooming, — our heroes are sleeping, — 
And peace broods perennial there. 

All over our land rings the story 
Of loyalty, fervent and true ; 

" One flag," and that flag is " Old Glory," 
Alike for the Gray and the Blue. 

Why cling to those moth-eaten banners ? 

What glory or honor to gain 
While the nation is shouting hosannas, 

Uniting her sons to fight Spain ? 
Time is ripe, and the harvest worth reaping, 

Send the Johnnies their flags f. o. b., 
Address to the care and safe-keeping 

Of that loyal " old Reb," Fitzhugh Lee ! 

Yes, send back the Johnnies their bunting, 

With greetings from Blue to the Gray ; 
We are " Brothers-in-blood," and " Good 
Hunting " 
Is America's watchword to-day. 

— John H. Jewett. 



3°9 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(§titbnnia to Cofumflia. 

WHAT is the voice I hear 

On the wind of the Western sea ? 
Sentinel, listen from out Cape Clear, 
And say what the voice may be. 
" 'Tis a proud, free people calling loud to a people 
proud and free. 

" And it says to them, « Kinsmen, hail ! 

We severed have been too long ; 
Now let us have done with a worn-out tale, 

The tale of an ancient wrong, 
And our friendship last long as love doth last, and 

be stronger than death is strong.' " 

Answer them, sons of the selfsame race, 

And blood of the selfsame clan, 
Let us speak with each other, face to face, 

And answer as man to man, 
And loyally love and trust each other as none but 

free men can. 

Now fling them out to the breeze, 
Shamrock, thistle, and rosej 

310 



BRITANNIA TO COLUMBIA. 



And the Star Spangled Banner unfurl with these, 
A message to friends and foes, 
Wherever the sails of peace are seen, and wherever 
the war wind blows. 

A message to bond and thrall to wake, 

For wherever we come, we twain, 
The throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake 
And his menace be void and vain, 
For you are lords of a strong young land and we are 
lords of the main. 

Yes, this is the voice on the bluff March gale, 

" We severed have been too long; 
But now we have done with a worn-out tale, 
The tale of an ancient wrong, 
And our friendship shall last long as love doth last, 
and be stronger than death is strong." 

— A If red A us tin . 



3" 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Cfyic&amcMQa — 1898. 

''"PHEY are camped on Chickamauga ! 
Once again the white tents gleam 
On that field where vanished heroes 

Sleep the sleep that knows no dream. 
There are shadows all about them 

Of the ghostly troops to-day, 
But they light the common camp-fire, — 

Those who wore the blue and gray. 

Where the pines of Georgia tower, 

Where the mountains kiss the sky, 
On their arms the Nation's warriors 

Wait to hear the battle-cry. 
Wait together, friends and brothers, 

And the heroes 'neath their feet 
Sleep the long and dreamless slumber 

Where the flowers are blooming sweet. 

Sentries pause, yon shadow challenge ! 

Rock-ribbed Thomas goes that way, — ■ 
He who fought the foe unyielding 

In that awful battle fray. 
Yonder pass the shades of heroes, 

And they follow where Bragg leads 



CHICKAMAUGA- 



Through the meadows and the river, — 
But no ghost the sentry heeds. 

Field of fame, a patriot army 

Treads thy sacred sod to-day ! 
And they'll face a common foeman, 

Those who wore the blue and gray, 
And they'll fight for common country, 

And they'll charge to victory 
'Neath the folds of one brave banner, — 

Starry banner of the free ! 

They are camped off Chickamauga, 

Where the green tents of the dead 
Turn the soil into a glory 

Where a Nation's heart once bled ; 
But they're clasping hands together 

On this storied field of strife, — 
Brothers brave who meet to battle 

In the freedom-war of life ! 

— Baltimore News. 



3i3 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

1863. 

T^ROM shuddering trees the painted leaves 

Strew redder dyes of crimson sod ; 
And brave men He in ghastly sheaves, 

As whirled there by the wrath of God. 
Gray vapors hum with wings of death, 

Whose roll-call speeds its fierce alarms ; 
And life sighs, " Here ! " with parting breath, 

Where bleeding thousands ground their arms. 
For brothers face each other's steel, 
Grim suitors in the last appeal. 



From laughing leas the bugles sing, 

More shrill than bird to nesting mate 
O'er tented slopes the war notes ring, 

And time again the tramp of fate. 
Bright oriflamme of liberty, 

Our bannered blazon flaunts the sky, 
And hails the " sun-burst " in the sea, 

A gallant people's anguished cry. 
Now, brothers, touch in common weal 
To right that foreign wrong with steel. 

— G. T. Ferris. 

314 



ONE BENEATH OLD GLORY. 



dne Q&eneaf0 <&fo <t?for£. 

"T\ON'T you hear the tramp of soldiers? 

Don't you hear the bugles play? 
Don't you see the muskets flashing 

In the sunlight far away ? 
Don't you feel the ground all trembling 

'Neath the tread of many feet ? 
They are coming, tens of thousands, 

To the army and the fleet. 

They are Yankees, they are Johnnies, 

They're for North and South no more ; 
They are one, and glad to follow 

When Old Glory goes before. 
From Atlantic to Pacific, 

From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, 
They are gath'ring 'round Old Glory, 

And they're marching to the war. 

Don't you see the harbors guarded 
By those bristling dogs of war ? 

Don't you hear them growling, barking, 
At the fleet beyond the bar ? 

Don't you hear the Jack Tars cheering, 
Brave as sailor lads can be ? 

315 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Don't you see the water boiling 
Where the squadron put to sea ? 

They are Yankees, they are Johnnies, 

They're for North and South no more ; 
They are one, and glad to follow 

When Old Glory goes before. 
From Atlantic to Pacific, 

From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, 
They have gathered 'round Old Glory, 

And they're sailing to the war. 

Don't you hear the horses prancing ? 

Don't you hear the sabres clash ? 
Don't you hear the cannons roaring ? 

Don't you hear the muslcets crash ? 
Don't you smell the smoke of battle ? 

Oh, you'll wish that you had gone, 
When you hear the shouts and cheering 

For the boys who whipped the Don ! 

There'll be Yankees, there'll be Johnnies, 

There'll be North and South no more, 
When the boys come marching homeward 

With Old Glory borne before. 
From Atlantic to Pacific, 

From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, 
They'll be one beneath Old Glory 

After coming from the war. 

316 



THE MAINE. 



£0e QUaine. 



T)RAVE hearts still'd on the Maine, a last 
good night ! 

Good night to gallant fellowship and stanch 
Lives, not less honor'd if not lost in fight ! 

Tho' upon unknown waters ye must launch 
Your boats with our rich cargo of regret, 

None who our country love can bid good-by 
To your remembrance, nor can e'er forget 

What sacrifice ye made for her. We die 
In age 'mid aliens, but in youth 'mid friends 

Whose impulses are ours, to whom alike 
The bright meridian of manhood lends 

Its glory. Tho' your knell untimely strike, 
No silent silting of the hurried years 
May hide your worth, nor choke the source of 
tears ! — Griswald Dichter. 



3*7 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$ JJong fot f($e JJaifor*men. 

TVT OW it's hail to the commander, 
And it's hail the valiant fleet ! 
And it's hail the guns that thundered 

Through the battle's lurid heat ! 
But we'll not forget the sailors, 

So it's sailor-men, hurrah ! 
It's your country's hand we give you, 

For to shake your grimy paw. 

The sailor-men, the sailor-men, 

The men who fought below, 
The gunners and the striplings 

And the navvies we don't know — 
But it's hail to them, and Honor 

Wreath her roses 'round their fame ; 
For 'twas them that did their duty 

When the cannon spoke their flame ! 

Oh, cheer the mighty commodore, — 

The credit is his due, — 
And cheer the under officers, 

The gunners and the crew ! 
But don't forget the sailor-men, 

Who fought the fight below, 

3i8 






A SONG FOR THE SAILOR -MEN. 



Where the devil lit his furnace, 
And they hadn't any show. 

The sailor-men, the sailor-men, 

A flag we'll fly for them, 
And the girls will wreath the roses 

In a gaudy diadem, 
For to crown the seaman's valor, 

And to honor them that sweat 
Where the devil lights his furnace 

And the bloody decks are wet. 

Now it's hail unto the commodore, 

The captains, and all that ! 
But we sha'n't forget the underlings, 

Or be they Mike or Pat ; 
For they fought the fight with valor - 

Here's your country's hand to you, 
Every hearty lad that's numbered 

In the squadron's noble crew. 

The sailor-men, the sailor-men, 

The lowest and the high, 
With a heart for any duty, — 

Though that duty be to die, — 
Here's a cheer across the valleys, 

And an echo o'er the hills ; 

3 T 9 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



For the land from hill to valley 

With your splendid triumph thrills ! 

Yea, hail the grimy sailor-man, — 

And sure he's got a breast 
That is filled with love of country, — 

And it's hail him with the rest, 
For the fires he kept a-burning, 

And the guns he kept awake, 
And the sweet life that he offered 

For his darlin' country's sake ! 

Oh, the sailor-man, the sailor-man ! 

When all is said and done, 
At Manila or wherever 

Valor's bloody race is run, 
He's deservin' of affection ; 

For, behold, the commodore 
Without the grimy sailor-man 

Can't make the cannon roar ! 

— Baltimore News. 



320 



IN DAYS LIKE THESE. 



3n ©a^s feifte £0ese. 

^\ GOD of hosts, whose mighty hand 
Our fathers led across the seas, 

We took from thee our goodly land, 
To thee we look in days like these. 

'Mid swelling tumult, bitter word, 

'Mid clashing arms and bugles' blare, 
While war-drums fret the fevered air, 

In days like these, be near, O Lord. 

The winds have swept our colors out, 
Our polished guns the sun has kissed ; 

With measured step and loyal shout, 

The men trooped by who now are missed. 

The hilltops signal far away, 

And sea calls sea with beacon lips, 
Where ride our far-flung battle ships, 

To strike the foe at break of day. 

Forgive, O Lord, that we forgot 
To humble self and thee to please ; 

Our vows unkept, sins thought, unthought, 
Forgive, O Lord, in days like these. 

Our gift upon the altar lies, 

325 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Accept it ere thou call us hence, 
Although thou saidst obedience 
Is better than a sacrifice. 

'Tis not for gain or vengeful spite 

Our treasure and our life is poured, 
But for the wronged who have no might, 

Whose cry has reached the ear of God. 
In days like these our motives take, 

Since whom thou usest thou must trust ; 

And when we strike because we must, 
Help us to heal the wounds we make. 

— Thomas H. Stacy. 



322 



NEMESIS. 



(Ttemegis. 

THE MAINE. 

C HE glided on her peaceful quest, 

What though her starry flag might bear 
To some a silent, stern behest, 

To some a breath of freedom's air ; 
Then in her berth, a stately guest, 

Slept, trustful, in that alien lair. 

But what are bulkheads, fashioned well, 
And what are sides and decks of steel, 

Or cunning dial-hands, to tell, 

Through night and day, of woe or weal, 

When human hearts can league with hell 
And sow volcanoes 'neath a keel ? 



So, by a deed whose blackness made 
The night it chose seem white beside, 

Struck in the dark by coward's blade, 

The knightly Maine leapt once and died, - 

A name to make a throne afraid, — 
A wreck that moaned beneath the tide ! 

3*3 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



THE OREGON. 

But o'er the land th6 tidings swept, 

And death-cries quivered through the wire ; 

Down in the hole the engines leapt, 
The coal sprang eager to the fire, 

And never slacked and never slept 
The sister war-ship's grim desire ! 

With patient throbs that never wane 
A continent's long coast is won ; 

That nearing death-smoke on the main 
Shall teach the lesson to the Don 

That he who strikes a blow at Maine 
Shall reckon yet with Oregon / 

Ah, when her helm goes hard aport, 
And all her broadside speaks in fire, 

And from the proudly floating fort 

The cheers ring out with brave desire, 

That sound shall shake a trembling court, 
And thrill Havana's sunken pyre ! 

— C. H. Crandall. 



3 2 4 



THE WAR -SHIP " DIXIE.' 



n^HEY'VE named a cruiser " Dixie," — that's whut 

the papers say, — 
An' I hears they're goin' to man her with the boys 

that wore the gray ; 
Good news ! It sorter thrills me, an' makes me want 

ter be 
Whar the ban' is playin' " Dixie," an' the Dixie 

puts ter sea ! 

They've named a cruiser " Dixie." An', fellers, I'll 

be boun' 
You're goin' ter see some fightin' when the Dixie 

swings aroun' ! 
Ef any o' them Spanish ships shall strike her, east 

or west, 
Jest let the ban' play " Dixie," an' the boys'll do the 

rest ! 

I want to see that Dixie, — I want ter take my stan' 
On the deck of her and holler: "Three cheers fer 

Dixie Ian' ! " 
She means we're all united, — the war hurts healed 

away, 
An' " Way Down South in Dixie " is national to-day ! 

3 2 S 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



I bet you she's a good 'un ! I'll stake my last red 
cent 

Thar ain't no better timber in the whole blame settle- 
ment ! 

An' all their shiny battle-ships beside that ship air 
tame, 

Fer, when it comes to " Dixie," thar's somethin' in 
a name ! 

Here's three cheers an' a tiger, — as hearty as kin be ; 
An' let the ban' play " Dixie " when the Dixie puts 

ter sea ! 
She'll make her way an' win the day from shinin' East 

to West — 
Jest let the ban' play " Dixie," an' the boys'll do the 

rest. 

— Frank L. Stanton. 



326 



THE EAGLE'S SONG. 



$0e (Bagfe's Jiong. 

T*HE lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub 
Was seized by an eagle, and carried up, 
And homed for awhile in an eagle's nest, 
And slept for awhile on an eagle's breast ; 
And the eagle taught it the eagle's song : 
" To be stanch, and valiant, and free, and 
strong ! " 

The lion whelp sprang from the eyrie nest, 
From the lofty crag where the ^ueen birds rest ; 
He fought the King on the spreading plain, 
And drove him back o'er the foaming main. 
He held the land as a thrifty chief, 
And reared his cattle, and reaped his sheaf, 
Nor sought the help of a foreign hand, 
Yet welcomed all to his own free land ! 

Two were the sons that the country bore 
To the Northern lakes and the Southern shore ; 
And Chivalry dwelt with the Southern son, 
And Industry lived with the Northern one. 
Tears for the time when they broke and fought ! 
Tears was the price of the union wrought ! 
And the land was red in a sea of blood, 
Where brother for brother had swelled the flood ! 

3 2 7 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

And now that the two are one again, 
Behold on their shield the word " Refrain ! " 
And the lion cubs twain sing the eagle's song : 
" To be stanch, and valiant, and free, and 

strong ! " 
For the eagle's beak, and the lion's paw, 
And the lion's fangs, and the eagle's claw, 
And the eagle's swoop, and the lion's might, 
And the lion's leap, and the eagle's sight, 
Shall guard the flag with the word " Refrain ! " 
Now that the two are one again ! 

— Richard Mansfield. 



328 



THE DREAM OF THE SPANISH ADMIRAL. 



£0e ©team of f0e J5pcmig0 $&miraf. 

A. D. i S4 i. 

T N slumber as the morning broke 

(It was our homeward voyage to Spain) 
Methought I gave a parting look 

At the New World beyond the main. 
The shores were low, and soft and faint, 

Half purple mist and half firm land, 
On which the sunbeams seemed to paint 

The semblance of a foamy strand. 

I dreamed I saw a hundred ships 

Where not a sail had glanced before, 
And for chained hands and livid lips 

I heard a new-born people roar. 
To every mast a flag was nailed, 

No lion crest, but stripes and stars, 
And deep into the sea they sailed 

To wrestle with us, old in wars. 

They clove our ranks, they clomb the towers 
Our loftiest galleons proudly bore : 

They struck with more than mortal powers, 
Till Spain herself could strike no more. 

329 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And down the wind we drifted far, 

And to the shore our hulks were blown ; 

The sea was thick with mast and spar, 
And Spain was shaken from her throne. 

And louder than the whirring brine, 

And louder than the cannon's roar, 
I heard a voice, " Vengeance is mine, 

I recompense for evermore ! " 
Now may St. James defend us still, 

And may the cavaliers of Spain 
Sail on and conquer whom they will, 

And teach me that my dream was vain. 

— Samuel Dorman. 



33° 



JUST ONE SIGNAL. 



'PHE war-path is true and straight, 

It knoweth no left nor right ; 
Why ponder and wonder and vacillate ? 
The way to fight is to fight. 

The officer of the deck 

Had climbed to a perch aloft, 
And he leaned far out and he craned his neck, 

And his tones were gentle and soft : 
" I see," he whispered, " off there to port, 

Through the night shade's lesser black, 
The darker blur of the outer fort, 

Preparing for the attack." 
They signalled it so, and sharp and short 

The answer was signalled back : 
" Keep on." 

Again from the upper air 

Came the quiet voice of the guide : 
" The admiral's flagship's over there, 

Two miles on the starboard side. 
It's a long, long way for the best of eyes, 

But I know her by moon and sun, 

33 l 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



I know by her lines and I know her size — 
And there goes her warning gun." 

" That boat will make a most excellent prize," 
Said the admiral, " when we've won. 
Keep on." 



The whispering came again : 

" I think by the hints and signs 
Appearing ahead of us now and then 

That we're getting among their mines. 
Ten fathom in front, as the searchlights show, 

I fancy that I can detect 
The line of their outermost works — Ah, no ! 

It is nearer than I'd suspect." 
The message was sent to the admiral so, 

And he answered to this effect : 
" Keep on." 



The haze of the dawning day 

Slid into the shades of night, 
And he called : " Off there in the upper bay, 

They're lining their ships for a fight. 
I think they are training on us — " No more 

He said, for the dawn was lit 
By the blaze of a gun from the neighboring shore, 

332 









JUST ONE SIGNAL. 

And he fell to the deck, hard hit. 
They signalled : " The first man struck." As before 
The admiral answered it : 
" Keep on." 



The sun came over the hills 

As wishing a world-wide weal. 
And the guns were fired with the aim that kills, 

And steel pierced the heart of steel. 
And the line of shore was the fringe of hell, 

And the centre of hell was the sea, 
And the woe was the woe no tongue may tell, 

And no eye view tearlessly, 
And over that crater of bomb and shell 

The signal continued to be : 
" Keep on." 



O Lawrence, whose passing cry 

Grows ever the more sublime, 
And thou, O Nile king, whose words shall die 

When we learn of the death of time, 
We send you the third of a glorious three ; 

We send you a battle shout 
That echoes up from the blood-thick sea 

And up from the wreck and rout 

333 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And down from the staff on the high cross-tree 
Where the flag is signalling out : 
" Keep on." 

The warpath is true and straight, 

It knoweth no left nor right ; 
Mars loves not the man who would deviate, - 

For the way to fight is to fight. 

— Chicago Record. 



334 



CUBA LIBRE. 



Cufia £ifite. 

/^OMES a cry from Cuban water, — 
From the warm, dusk Antilles, — 
From the lost Atlanta's daughter, 

Drowned in blood as drowned in seas ; 
Comes a cry of purpled anguish, — 

See her struggles, hear her cries ! 
Shall she live, or shall she languish ? 

Shall she sink, or shall she rise ? 

She shall rise, by all that's holy ! 

She shall live and she shall last ; 
Rise as we, when crushed and lowly 

From the blackness of the past. 
Bid her strike ! Lo, it is written 

Blood for blood and life for life. 
Bid her smite, as she is smitten ; 

Stars and stripes were born of strife. 

Once we flashed her lights of freedom, 
Lights that dazzled her dark eyes 

Till she could but yearning heed them, 
Reach her hands and try to rise. 

Then they stabbed her, choked her, drowned her 
Till we scarce could hear a note. 

335 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Ah ! these rusting chains that bound her ! 
Oh ! these robbers at her throat ! 

And the kind who forged these fetters ? 

Ask five hundred years for news. 
Stake and thumbscrew for their betters ! 

Inquisitions ! Banished Jews ! 
Chains and slavery ! What reminder 

Of one red man in that land ? 
Why, these very chains that bind her 

Bound Columbus, foot and hand ! 

She shall rise as rose Columbus, 

From his chains, from shame and wrong, - 
Rise as Morning, matchless, wondrous, — 

Rise as some rich morning song, — 
Rise a ringing song and story, 

Valor, Love personified. 
Stars and stripes espouse her glory, 

Love and Liberty allied. 






336 



THE SONG OF DEWEY'S GUNS. 

$0e Jiong of ©eJaeg's &unz. 

\\ 7" HAT is this thunder music from the other side 
of the world, 
That pulses through the severing seas and 'round 
the planet runs? 
'Tis the death-song of old Spain floating from the 
Asian main ; 
There's a tale of crumbling empire in the song of 
Dewey's guns ! 

The hand that held the sceptre once of all the great 
world seas, 
And paved the march with dead men's bones 'neath 
all the circling suns, 
Grew faint with deadly fear when that thunder-song 
drew near, 
For the dirge of Spain was sounded by the song of 
Dewey's guns ! 

There is music in a cannon yet for all sons of peace, — 
Yea, the port-hole's belching anthem is soft music 
to her sons 
When the iron thunder-song sings the death of 
ancient wrong, — 
And a dying wrong was chanted by the song of 
Dewey's guns. 

— Sam Walter Foss. 

337 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



W0m Cofumfiia JJfcm&s. 

/^OLUMBIA beside the ocean stands, 

And greets the morn with an unclouded brow, 
For even now 

Unwonted splendors tinge the conscious sands, 
And as she lists, 
The world's approval comes from out the mists. 

From the far Orient where beauty dwells, 
Where vernal isles wait breathless on her name, 
A sweet acclaim 

Comes like the magic whisper of their shells, 
And in the cry 
She marks the vibrant note of victory ! 

With glowing cheek and an enkindled eye, 
With confident yet wistful glance she peers, 
As now she hears 

The surges where the western Indies lie, 
And sees the gleam 
Of her ships' wake, fast speeding east, supreme. 

Anon from Cuba comes the hearty hail 
Of patriots whose star is beaming bright ; 

33* 



WHERE COLUMBIA STANDS. 



After the night 

Of helplessness, crushed by the hand of mail, 
Thus left to die, 
God hears the dark bondwoman's children cry ! 

— Arthur Howard Hall. 



339 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$ T)oice from *0e £)fo Q&oes £eff 
Q&e0ino. 

"V^ES, we marched in the ranks to the station, 

Escortin' the "boys o' to-day." 
An' the youngsters enjoyed the ovation 

As if 'twas a new kind o' play, 
This gift o' young lives to the nation, — 

A-treadin' on hearts all the day. 

The music, the flags, and paradin' 
Of course lent a mask to our fears ; 

You'd a-thought we preferred blood to wade in, 
An' we bid 'em good-by with our cheers. 

But somehow our eyesight seemed f adin', — 
Haven't felt quite so briny for years. 

Yes, I know that it's hist'ry repeatin', 
An' how easy an' natural it came, 

When the sixty-one drums were a-beatin' 
Their rat-tat to glory and fame, 

For us to enlist, duty greetin', — 

But, comrade, this don't seem the same. 

We are proud o' the boys, no denyin', 

But they seemed only boys as they passed 
To receive our salute, flags a-flyin', 

34o 



VOICE FROM THE OLD BOYS LEFT BEHIND. 



Too young, and too good to be cast 
For our parts in the drama o' dyin', 
Writin' hist'ry in blood hard and fast. 

You've noticed the Vets weren't enthusin' 
For the " horrors o' war " to begin, 

Till the Maine left us small chance for choosin', 
An' humanity's claim led us in. 

God knows there's no other exeusin' 
This shadow o' hell chasin' sin ! 

Bein' in, Uncle Sam must keep stayin' 

Till the things settled right, — that's plain; 

Meanwhile let the band keep on playin', 
An' the Vets will all join the refrain, 

A-mixin' hurrahin' with prayin', 

While the boys do our fightin' with Spain. 

God bless 'em, — this new generation, — 

No manlier boys will you find ; 
They can whip, man for man, all creation, 

An' we'll have all their glory enshrined 
In the hearts o' a united nation, — 

Shake, pard, — tho' they've left us behind ! 

— John H. Jewett. 



34i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



17' NIGHT of the Eastern seas, thy fadeless fame 
Is writ in War's red blazing letters high 
Upon the backing of that Orient sky, 
That glitters with the lustre of thy name ; 
And tells the Saxon blood doth course the same 
Through all the branches of that mighty tree 
That shades the farthest league of land and sea. 
A nation's pride, a race's glad acclaim, 
Are thine. From far Manila's bloody main 
We heard the voice of God's new Sinai, 
That bade the red requital of thy guns 
Wipe out Havana's foul assassin stain. 
Avenged at last, our dear dead heroes lie, 
An unforgetting land's remembered sons. 

— Frank A . Marshall. 



342 



TO ADMIRAL GEORGE DEWEY. 



to (gbmixctf (Keorge ©e^eg. 

A/'OUNGEST descendant of a glorious line, — 
Jones, Perry, Hull, Decatur, heroes bold, 
Who fought this nation's brave sea fights of old, 
And Farragut, whose great deeds on the brine 
Through our wild civil strife with fierce glow 
shine, — 
Dewey, all hail ! With theirs is now enrolled 
Thy name ; with theirs thy story will be told ; 
Thy country's praise and gratitude are thine ; 
Thy daring sally in Manila Bay 

Has stirred the whole world's pulse, and well 
begun 
The war for human rights we wage to-day 

With consecrated sword. Hero, well done ! 
Thy fleet was Heaven-directed in that fray, 
No grander battle e'er yet fought and won. 

— Virginia Vaugkan. 



343 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



® ^ong of *0e $feet 

^\T E 'RE faring with the fleet 

Where the ocean billows beat ; 
Love sends on singing sea-winds his messages so 

sweet ; 
And speed our brave ships well 
Where the ocean thunders swell. 
The prayers and tears of Love are theirs, — 
Speed well ! Speed well ! Speed well ! 

We're faring with the fleet 
Where the isles rejoicing greet 
The flag for which the patriot hearts of cheer- 
ing millions beat ; 
And speed our brave ships well 
Till shouts of Victory swell ; 
The prayers and tears of Love are theirs, — 
Speed well ! Speed well ! Speed well ! 

— Frank L. Stanton. 



344 



THE AWAKENING OF UNCLE SAM. 



$($e Qtok&minQ of QXncU JJam. 

" (^H, Uncle Sam," they said, "has grown fat and 
loves his ease, 

And he lingers long at table, and distends his 
growing girth ; 

The strong arm we used to know has grown slug- 
gard-like and slow, 

And they mock his smug indifference to the ends of 
all the earth. 

" As his money-bags grow heavy does his love of 
man grow small, 

As his cushioned chair grows softer does his cal- 
loused heart grow hard ; 

He is careless of his fame, and the glory of his name, 

And the vision of the prophet, and the rapture of 
the bard. 

" And the tyrants in their anger lash their slaves 

before his eyes, 
And he turns his sleepy features tow'rd their faces 

hot with tears, 
And he sits between his seas in his soft, voluptuous 

ease, 
And the voices of their torment smite his undiscern- 

ing ears." 

345 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Ah, the slander of the tongues that proclaimed his 

heart was cold ! 
Ah, the error of the dotage that believed his arm 

was weak ! 
Ah, the folly, mad and dire, that provoked the slow 

to ire, 
And the pride that's in the careless, and the might 

that's in the meek ! 

He has risen from his feasting, the old look is on his 

face, 
For the voices of the helpless and the dying throng 

his path, 
For he sees at last their tears, and their groans are in 

his ears, 
And his arm is clothed with thunder, and his heart is 

nerved with wrath ! 

We have wronged him, the forbearing, him the 

patient, slow to smite, 
And we love him more than ever, and are prouder of 

his fame ; 
And we weep the taunts we uttered and whispered 

sneers we muttered, — 
For the guns before Manila silenced all the tongues 

of blame. 

— Sam Walter Foss. 



346 



CUBA'S APPEAL. 



f~\ FAIREST of the blue Antilles, 

Scarred by the foeman's sword and steel, 
Our hearts leap to thy mute appeal. 

Shall we pass with averted eye, 

Or but the tribute of a sigh, 

Where Cuban brothers, starving, lie ? 

Where babes wail on the icy breast 
Of mothers in their long, last rest, 
Dead, amid horrors unexpressed ? 

Where fathers watch with anguished eye, 
While famished children gasp and die, 
Their only roof the pitying sky ? 

Ah, could we deaf and silent be 
'Mid all this untold agony, 
Nor strike a blow for Cuba free, 

Methinks our valiant dead would rise 
And, from the depths of sightless eyes, 
Transfix us with their mute surprise : 

347 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Flashing reproach on you and me, 

Heirs of a blood-bought liberty, 

That we should live and such things be. 

Nay, by the homes we hold so dear, 
Never shall rise a wail so drear 
And we not hear, and we not hear. 

Back to your hills, O men of Spain ! 
Our war-ships at their anchors strain, 
Back ! shall the warning sound in vain ? 

Back to your homes across the waves ! 
Back to your crosses and your graves ! 
Plead ye for grace from him who saves ! 

E'en now too late ! what form is this ? 
Grim in her dread relentlessness, 
Within thy gates stands Nemesis ! 

— Carrie Shaw Rice. 



348 



JOINED THE BLUES. 



jjoinefc flje Q&fues. 

CAYS Stonewall Jackson to "Little Phil:" "Phil, 

have you heard the news ? 
Why, our Joe Wheeler — ' Fighting Joe ' — has gone 

and joined the Blues. 

" Ay, no mistake, — I saw him come, — I heard the 

oath he took, — 
And you'll find it duly entered up in yon great record 

book. 

"Yes, Phil, it is a change since then (we give the 

Lord due thanks), 
When Joe came sweeping like a hawk upon your 

Sherman's flanks ! 

" Why, Phil, you knew the trick yourself, — but Joe 

had all the points, — 
And we've yet to hear his horses died of stiff or rusty 

joints ! 

" But what of that ? — the deed I saw to-day in 

yonder town 
Leads all we did and all Joe did in troopings up and 

down ; 

349 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



"For, Phil, that oath shall be the heal of many a 

bleeding wound, 
And many a Southland song shall yet to that same 

oath be tuned ! 

" The oath Joe swore has done the work of thrice a 

score of years, — 
Ay, more than oath, — he swore away mistrust and 

hate and tears ! " 

" Yes, yes," says Phil, " he was, indeed, a right good 

worthy foe, 
And well he knew, in those fierce days, to give us 

blow for blow ! 

"When Joe came 'round to pay a call, — the com- 
missaries said, — 

Full many a swearing, grumbling ' Yank ' went 
supperless to bed ; 

"He seemed to have a pesky knack — so Sherman 

used to say — 
Of calling, when he should by rights be ninety miles 

away ! 

" Come, Stonewall, put your hand in mine : Joe's 

sworn old Samuel's oath ; 
We're never North or South again, — he kissed the 

book for both ! " 

— John Lerome Rooney. 

35o 



MANILA BAY. 



(gtcmifa (§a%. 

T l HE first great fight of the war is fought ! 

And who is the victor, — say, — 
Is there aught of the lesson now left untaught 
By the fight of Manila Bay ? 

Two by two were the Spanish ships 

Formed in their battle line ; 

Their flags at the taffrail, peak and fore, 
And batt'ries ready upon the shore, 

Silently biding their time. 

Into their presence sailed our fleet, — 
The harbor was fully mined, — 
With shotted guns and open ports 
Up to their ships, — ay, — up to their forts ; 
For Dewey is danger-blind. 

Signalled the flagship, " Open fire," 

And the guns belched forth their death. 

" At closer range," was the order shown ; 

Then each ship sprang to claim her own, 
And to lick her fiery breath. 

Served were our squadron's heavy guns, 
With gunners stripped to the waist, 

351 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And the blinding, swirling, sulph'rous smoke 
Enveloped the ships, as each gun spoke, 
In its furious, fearful haste. 

Sunk and destroyed were the Spanish ships, 
Hulled by our heavy shot, 

For the Yankee spirit is just the same, 
And the Yankee grit and the Yankee aim, 
And their courage which faileth not. 

The first great fight of the war is fought, 

And who is victor, — say, — 
Is there aught of the lesson now left untaught 

By the fight of Manila Bay ? 

~H. E. W.,Jr. 



352 






WAR PRAYER. 



Wax Qptavtt. 

TTELP us to win, O Lord, on sea and land; 

Not by the might alone of armored battle-ships, 
But thy strong hand, 
Though all unseen thy shining cohorts must remain ; 
Help us, for Spain's own sake, to conquer Spain. 

Victorious host, which never fought in vain 

On earth's red battle-fields, 
Invincible, invisible, nerve the arm 

That Freedom's keen blade wields, 
And let the smoke of battle blown away 

By Liberty's free air 
With freemen's shouts of victory resound 

Where brave men do and dare. 



Strike off Spain's mouldering chains, 

That bind her to a still more mouldering past, 
And let her feel the wine of freedom glow 

Through all her veins at last. 
Teach her, Columbia, what thyself hast learned 

Through fire and smoke and blood, — 
All men are brethren dear alike 

Unto their common father, God. 

'353 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Teach her that chains of love are stronger far 
Than clanking steel or ponderous prison bar ; 
Mercy that tempers justice far more meet 
Than despot's lash to bring men to her feet. 
Help her, that on her own Castilian shore 
The hand of tyranny be felt no more, 
And Freedom's banner float from every height 
To show that Spain at last has learned 
That right is might. 

— M.J.H. 



354 



AND JOE WENT. 



$tt& jfre Went 

T17 HEN he heerd the battle-cry 
Joe jes' seemed to set an eye 
On to me, much as to say : 
" Dad, it's mighty hard to stay ! " 
Got to mopin' 'round the place 
With a battle-hungry face, — 
Mopin' like his daddy done 
Back in Eighteen Sixty-one. 

Once or twice he'd make a break 
Liken he was goin' to speak ; 
Then he'd swaller at a lump 
In his throat, an' then the chump 
Seemed to weaken, like he thought 
His request'd make me hot. 
Then he'd sneak away, an' I 
Feelin' half inclined to cry. 

Grabbed the paper every day 
In a sort of nervous way, 
An' he'd read the stirrin' news, 
Twitchin' to his very shoes. 
Bit his lips an' sort o' sighed, 
Full o' signs he couldn't hide, 

355 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Till his mother asked him, " Joe, 
What's a-eatin' at you so ? " 

" No thin','' he would say, ' I'm jes' 
Nervous like, an' sorter guess 
That I'm bilious," then he'd sneak 
Over there acrost the creek, 
Me a-watchin' him, an' there 
I could tell that it was swear 
Kep' his lips a-movin' so, — 
He was in a stew, was Joe ! 

Finally I said one day : 
" Boy, why don't you say yer say 
Like a man, an' not go 'round 
Eyes a-draggin' on the ground ? 
Long 'fore you were born, yer dad 
Had that same, an' had it bad, 
An' he went, you bet, — an' Joe, 
If you want to go, jes' go ! " 

Ort to see him look ! an' — well, 
Neighbors said they heerd him yell 
Up an' down the creek a mile, 
An' you'd ort to seed him pile 
On to me an' hug me till 
Both my eyes begun to spill, 

356 



AND JOE WENT. 



An' a lump stuck in my throat 
Bigger than a month-old shoat. 

Got a letter t'other day 

From that Denver camp where they 

Are a-rendevooin'. Joe 

Says the cussed rain an' snow 

Ain't a bloomin' picnic, yit 

He ain't weakenin' a bit, 

An' we'll hear from him when he 

Goes to set oF Cuby free. 

— Denver Post. 



357 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



<$inq Coai to QJncfe J^m* 

T AM the king of strife and calm, — 

Now a whistle and now a moan, — 
I have seized the sceptre and torn the palm 

From the wind on his bauble throne. 
My pipe in his face I boldly puff 

Till his rage my soul inspires. 
And I draw him down and his cries I drown 
In the glee of a billion fires ! 

Oh, I am king of the land and sea, 

King of the field and foam, 
King of the mountain, hill, and lea, 
King of the hearth and home ! 

Heir of the lordly limbs and leaves, — 

Now a whistle and now a moan, — 
And my sires, up-garnered in mammoth sheaves, 

On the floors of the world were strown. 
Yet up through the starless roofs I come, 

And the sentry breezes quail ; 
And the furnace glow is the flag I throw 

In the teeth of the howling gale ! 
Oh, I am king of the land and sea, 
King of the field and foam, 

358 



KING COAL TO UNCLE SAM. 



King of the mountain, vale, and lea, 
King of the hearth and home ! 

Tears for the straining sail and sheet, — 

Now a whistle and now a moan, — 
As the waves ride over the fated fleet 

At the whim of the wild wind blown. 
But cheers for the million-muscled oars 

That I make from drops of rain ; 
For as coal I am king, and the song I sing 
Is a dirge to the fleet of Spain ! 
Oh, I am king of the land and sea, 

King of the field and foam, 
King of the mountain, hill, and lea, 
King of the hearth and home ! 

— E. F. Burns. 



359 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e (gace of f0e Oregon, 



T IGHTS out! And a prow turned towards the 

South, 
And a canvas hiding each cannon's mouth, 
And a ship like a silent ghost released 
Is seeking her sister ships in the East. 

A rush of water, a foaming trail, 
An ocean hound in a coat of mail, 
A deck long-lined with the lines of fate, 
She roars good-by at the Golden Gate. 

On ! On ! Alone without gong or bell, 
But a burning fire like the fire of hell, 
Till the lookout starts as his glasses show 
The white cathedral of Callao. 

A moment's halt 'neath the slender spire ; 
Food, food for the men and food for the fire. 
Then out to the sea to rest no more 
Till her keel is grounded on Chile's shore. 

South ! South ! God guard through the 

unknown wave 
Where chart nor compass may help or save, 

360 



THE RACE OF THE OREGON. 



Where the hissing wraiths of the sea abide 
And few may pass through the stormy tide. 

North ! North ! For a harbor far away, 
For another breath in the burning day ; 
For a moment's shelter from speed and pain, 
And a prow to the tropic sea again. 

Home! Home! With the mother fleet to 

sleep 
Till the call shall rise o'er the awful deep ; 
And the bell shall clang for the battle there, 
And the voice of guns is the voice of prayer ! 

One more to the songs of the bold and free, 
When your children gather about your knee ; 
When the Goths and Vandals come down in 

might 
As they came to the walls of Rome one night ; 
When the lordly William of Deloraine 
Shall ride by the Scottish lake again ; 
When the Hessian spectres shall flit in air 
As Washington crosses the Delaware ; 
When the eyes of babes shall be closed in 

dread 
As the story of Paul Revere is read : 

361 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



When your boys shall ask what the guns are 

for, 
Then tell them the tale of the Spanish war, 
And the breathless millions that looked upon 
The matchless race of the Oregon. 

— John James Meehan. 



362 



UNCOVER TO THE FLAG. 



QJncofcer to flje ffag. 

T TNCOVER to the flag; bare head 
Sorts well with heart as, humbly 
bowed, 
We stand in presence of the dead 
Who make the flag their shroud. 

Uncover to the flag, for there 
The patriot past is typified, 

Of those who taught us how to dare 
For liberty, and died. 

Uncover to the flag, for those 
Of Concord and of Bunker Hill, 

The first to fire on freedom's foes, 
With shots that echo still. 

Uncover to the flag, for him 

Who sang the song, the gallant Key, 
When in the dawn hour, gray and dim, 

He strained, its stars to see. 

Uncover to the flag, for one 

Who scorned to have his colors dip, 
And fighting all but flying none, 

Cried, " Don't give up the ship." 

363 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Uncover to the flag, for him 

Who stoutly nailed it to the mast, 

And dauntlessly, or sink or swim, 
Stood by it to the last. 

Uncover to the flag ; the land 
It floats above is one anew, — 

The North and South, now hand in hand, 
See God's skies, gray and blue. 

Uncover to the flag ; it flew 

Above the men who manned the Maine, 
The pledge that we will mete the due 

Of vengeance out to Spain ! 

Uncover to the flag ; it stands 

For all of bravest, all of best, 
In us with flower-laden hands, 

In those who lie at rest. 

— E. C. Cheverton. 






3 6 4 



ENLISTED. 

(Enfisfefc. 

The Old Soldier Speaks. 

T FOUGHT under Lee and Stonewall, 

And I hated a Yankee like sin, 
But gimme my uniform, sergeant, 
I'm going to fight ag'in. 

I took out my old gray clothes last night, 
I thought of the day they was new, 

And I looked at the holes in the left-hand 
sleeve 
Where a minie ball went through. 

And I heard the band play " Dixie," — 
By God ! I heard every note, — 

And I thought of Manassas and Shiloh, 
And a lump came up in my throat. 

And I said, " Go back to that old oak chest, 
There ain't no more service for you ; 

I'm goin' to fight on the side that's right, 
And I'm going to wear the blue ! " 

There's jest one thought in every heart, 
One word in every mouth ; 

365 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



For things is all so twisted around 
That there ain't no North nor South. 

I never thought it would come to this ; 

It's strange, but I reckon it's true; 
For it's jest one country and jest one flag, 

And we're all a-wearin' the blue ! 

— Eliza Calvert Hall. 



366 



THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS. 



$0e QJten (J£e0in& f0e &\xnz. 

A CHEER and salute for the admiral, and here's to 

the captain bold, 
And never forget the commodore's debt when the 

deeds of might are told! 
They stand to the deck thro' the battle's wreck, when 

the great shells roar and screech, — 
And never they fear when the foe is near to practise 

what they preach ; 
But off with your hat and three times three for 

Columbia's true-blue sons, — 
The men below who batter the foe, — the men behind 

the guns ! 



Oh, light and merry of heart are they when they 

swing into port once more, 
When, with more than enough of the " green-backed 

stuff," they start for their leave-o'-shore ; 
And you'd think, perhaps, that the blue-bloused chaps 

who loll along the street 
Are a tender bit, with salt on it, for some " mustache " 

to eat, — 

367 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Some warrior bold, with straps of gold, who dazzles 

and fairly stuns 
The modest worth of the sailor boys, — the lads who 

serve the guns. 

But say not a word till a shot is heard that tells the 

fight is on, 
Till the long deep roar grows more and more from 

the ships of " Yank " and " Don," 
Till over the deep the tempests sweep of fire and 

bursting shell, 
And the very air is a mad Despair in the throes of a 

living hell ; 
Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by 

the midday suns, 
You'll find the chaps who are giving the raps, — the 

men behind the guns ! 

Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow that they 

loose from their cloud of wrath, 
And they know is heard the thunder-word their fierce 

ten-inchers saith ! 
The steel decks rock with the lightning shock, and 

shake with the great recoil, 
And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and 

reaches for its spoil, — 



THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS. 



But not till the foe has gone below, or turns his prow 

and runs, 
Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the 

men behind the guns ! 

— John James Rooney. 



369 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



©eiaeg in (gtantfa Q&as. 

TT E took a thousand islands and he didn't lose a 
man — 
(Raise your heads and cheer him as he goes ! ) 
He licked the sneaky Spaniard till the fellow cut and 
ran, 
For fighting's part of what a Yankee knows. 

He fought 'em and he licked 'em, and he didn't give 

ad 

(It was only his profession for to win), 
He sank their boats beneath 'em, and he spared 'em 
as they swam, 
And then he sent his ambulances in. 

He had no word to cheer him and had no bands to 
play, 
He had no crowds to make his duty brave ; 
But he risked the deep torpedoes at the breaking of 
the day, 
For he knew he had our self-respect to save. 

He flew the angry signal crying justice for the Maine, 
He flew it from his flagship as he fought. 

He drove the tardy vengeance in the very teeth of 
Spain, 
And he did it just because he thought he ought. 

370 



DEWEY IN MANILA BAY. 



He busted up their batteries, and sank eleven ships 
(He knew what he was doing, every bit); 

He set the Maxims going like a hundred cracking 
whips, 
And every shot that crackled was a hit. 

He broke 'em and he drove 'em, and he didn't care 
at all, 
He only liked to do as he was bid ; 
He crumpled up their squadron and their batteries 
and all, — 
He knew he had to lick 'em, and he did. 

And when the thing was finished and they flew the 
frightened flag, 
He slung his guns and sent his foot ashore, 
And he gathered in their wounded, and he quite 
forgot to brag, 
For he thought he did his duty, nothing more. 

Oh, he took a thousand islands and he didn't lose a 
man — 
(Raise your heads and cheer him as he goes ! ) 
He licked the sneaky Spaniard till the fellow cut and 
ran, 
For fighting's part of what a Yankee knows ! 

— R. V. Risley. 



37i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e §bpitit of *0e (gtaine. 

T N battle-line of sombre gray 
Our ships of war advance, 
As Red Cross knights in holy fray 

Charged with avenging lance. 
And terrible shall be thy plight, 

O fleet of cruel Spain ! 
For ever in our van doth fight 

The spirit of the Maine I 

As when, beside Regillus Lake, 

The great twin brethren came 
A righteous fight for Rome to make 

Against a deed of shame, 
So now a ghostly ship shall doom 

The fleet of treacherous Spain, — 
Before her guilty soul doth loom 

The spirit of the Maine / 

A wraith arrayed in peaceful white, 

As when asleep she lay 
Above the traitorous mine that night 

Within Havana Bay, 

372 



THE SPIRIT OF THE MAINE. 



She glides before the avenging fleet 

A sign of woe to Spain. 
Brave though her sons, how shall they 
meet 
The spirit of the Maine f 

— Tudor Jenks. 



373 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e (Jte>& (gtemoriaf ©&£. 

" Under the roses the blue ; 
Under the lilies the gray." 

/°jH, the roses we plucked for the 
^ blue, 

And the lilies we twined for the gray, 
We have bound in a wreath, 

And in silence beneath 

Slumber our heroes to-day. 

Over the new-turned sod 

The sons of our fathers stand, 

And the fierce old fight 

Slips out of sight 

In the clasp of a brother's hand. 

For the old blood left a stain 
That the new has washed away, 

And the sons of those 

That have faced as foes 

Are marching together to-day. 

Oh, the blood that our fathers gave! 
Oh, the tide of our mothers' tears ! 

374 



THE NEW MEMORIAL DAY. 



And the flow of red, 
And the tears they shed, 
Embittered a sea of years. 

But the roses we plucked for the 
blue, 
And the lilies we twined for the 
gray 
We have bound in a wreath, 
And in glory beneath 

Slumber our heroes to-day ! 

— Albert Bigelow Paine. 



375 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Join's gout of ©oom. 

Written on the declaration of Cuban independence 
by the American Congress. 

O PAIN'S hour has struck. No more her 
° Hag 

Shall float o'er Cuba's fateful isle. 

Her reign of treachery and guile 
Is o'er. No more shall vengeance lag. 

Back to their gaunt Iberian crag 
Her desolating legions hurl, 
Or let the wild Atlantic's swirl 

Their souls and bodies hellward drag. 

Ay, let her new armada flee 

Westward her tyranny to maintain. 
We will, in memory of the Maine, 

Meet it and sink it in the sea. 



Out of the Western Hemisphere 

Spain's yellow banner soon shall fade. 
No more by her shall graves be made 

Where grain should grow and fruits appear. 

376 



SPAIN'S HOUR OF DOOM. 



No more her fiends with sword and fire 
The Cubans' homes shall devastate, 
Slay sons, and daughters violate 

Before their mother and their sire. 

The infamy of Spain shall loom 
Black over the devoted isle 
No longer. Not by force or will 

Can she put back the hour of doom. 

That hour has struck. From Morro's height 
Haul down her old dishonored flag, 
While back to her Iberian crag, 

She takes her ignominious flight. 

— Albert Roland Haven. 



377 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



©eiaes at (JJftanifa. 

"TWAS the very verge of May 
When the bold Olympia led 
Into Bocagrande Bay 

Dewey's squadron, dark and dread, 
Creeping past Corregidor, 
Guardian of Manila's shore. 

Do they sleep who wait the fray ? 

Is the moon so dazzling bright 
That our cruisers' battle-gray 

Melts into the misty light ? 
Ah ! the red flash and the roar ! 
Wakes at last Corregidor ! 

All too late her screaming shell 
Tears the silence with its track ; 

This is but the gate to hell, 
We've no leisure to turn back. 

Answer, Concord ! — then once more 

Slumber on, Corregidor. 

And as, like a slowing tide, 

Onward still the vessels creep, 
Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed, 

378 



DEWEY AT MANILA. 

Orders, — " Let the gunners sleep ; 
For we meet a foe at four 
Fiercer than Corregidor." 

Well they slept, for well they knew 
What the morrow taught us all, — 

He was wise (as well as true) 
Thus upon the foe to fall. 

Long shall Spain the day deplore 

Dewey ran Corregidor. 

May is dancing into light 

As the Spanish admiral 
From a dream of phantom fight 

Wakens at his sentry's call. 
Shall he leave Cavite's lee, 
Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea ? 

O Montojo, to thy deck, 

That to-day shall float its last ! 

Quick ! To quarters ! Yonder speck 
Grows a hull of portent vast. 

Hither, toward Cavite's lee 

Comes the Yankee hunting thee ! 

Not for fear of hidden mine 

Halts our quiet commodore. 
He, of old heroic line, 

379 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Follows Farragut once more, 
Hazards all on victory, 
Here within Cavite's lee. 

If he loses, all is gone ; 

He will win because he must. 
And the shafts of yonder dawn 

Are not quicker than his thrust. 
Soon, Montojo, he shall be 
With thee in Cavite's lee. 

Now, Manila, to the fray ! 

Show the hated Yankee host 
This is not a holiday, — 

Spanish blood is more than boast. 
Fleet and mine and battery, 
Crush him in Cavite's lee ! 

Lo, hell's geysers at our fore 

Pierce the plotted path, — in vain, 

Nerving every man the more 

With the memory of the Maine ! 

Now at last our guns are free 

Here within Cavite's lee. 

" Gridley," says the commodore, 

" You may fire when ready." Then 
Long and loud, like lions' roar 

380 



DEWEY AT MANILA. 



When a rival dares the den, 
Breaks the awful cannonry 
Full across Cavite's lee. 

Who shall tell the daring tale 
Of our Thunderbolt's attack, 

Finding, when the chart should fail, 
By the lead his dubious track, 

Five ships following faithfully 

Five times o'er Cavite's lee ; 

Of our gunners' deadly aim ; 

Of the gallant foe and brave 
Who, unconquered, faced with flame, 

Seek the mercy of the wave, — 
Choosing honor in the sea 
Underneath Cavite's lee ? 

Let the meed the victors gain 
Be the measure of their task. 

Less of flinching, stouter strain, 
Fiercer combat, who could ask ? 

And " surrender," — 'twas a word 

That Cavite never heard. 

Noon, — the woful work is done ! 

Not a Spanish ship remains; 
But, of their eleven, none 

38i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Ever was so truly Spain's ! 
Which is prouder, they or we, 
Thinking of Cavite's lee ? 



But remember, when we've ceased 
Giving praise and reckoning odds, 

Man shares courage with the beast, 
Wisdom cometh from the gods. 

Who would win, on land or wave, 

Must be wise as well as brave. 

— Robert Underwood Johnson. 



382 



1898 AND 1562. 



1898 anb 1562. 

'THE evening and the morning have joined in fight 
at last. 
Around the Western islands the Old shall fight the 
New; 
Columbia and Hispania, the Present and the Past, 
And Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-eight fights 
Fifteen Sixty-two. 

The Nation of the Forward Look that sees the 
heights ahead 
Fights with the Backward Glancing Realm that 
sees the tombs behind. 
And who shall doubt the conflict of the Quick and of 
the Dead, — 
Of the Leaders with the Laggards of Mankind ? 

To-day joins fight with Yesterday ; the mediaeval 
years 
Are grappling with the Modern, and the Old 
assails the New. 
But who, who fears the issue? Where's the trem- 
bling soul that fears 
When Eighteen Hundred Ninety-eight fights Fif- 
teen Sixty-two ? 

— Sam Walter Foss. 

383 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$n (American to %\% (JJM0et\ 

T^OST thou hear, Columbia, O my mother, 

That pale suppliant, sobbing at thy feet, — 
Spat upon, and stripped, and left to starve there, 
Naked in the street ? 

With her feeble strength she gropes to grasp thee, 
But to touch thy hem, and rise up free. 

Listen ! Shall her blue lips, drawn with hunger, 
Call in vain on thee ? 

Oh, her white and branded beauty, mother ! 

Oh, her virgin, violated fame ! 
Crawling to thy knees, she cries in anguish, 

" Save me from this shame ! 

" By thy sons that hung against thy bosom, 
Sucking from thy veins their stalwart breath ; 

By the blood they spilt to guard thy honor, — 
Save me from this death ! 

" By thy daughters' fame, thine own fair virtue ; 

By thy motherhood, that all men know ; 
By the unborn Future in thy loins, — 

Kill this loathsome foe ! " 

384 



AN AMERICAN TO HIS MOTHER. 



Wouldst thou harken, lend thine eyes, stretch hands 
of succor ? 
Useless ! Unless, first, thy vengeance rain 
In a leaden storm on her seducer. 
Strike ! — God pity Spain ! 

— Boston Journal. 



385 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



T REMEMBER well the way 

She looked up at me that day 
When I first put on the gray, 

And said good-by, back there in '63. 
She and I were sweethearts then, 
And I hear her voice again, 

As she nestled up to me, 
Saying, in her gentle way: 
" Ah, how brave you look in gray, 
And how tall and handsome, too, — 
Gray's the color, dear, for you ! " 

There's a ragged suit of gray 
She has long had laid away, — 

There are memories that cling around 
it, too ; 
But the years have come and gone, 
And at present I have on 

A suit of Uncle Sam's beloved blue. 

When she saw me yesterday, 
She wiped a tear away 
For the memory of the gray, — 
That dear, old, ragged suit of '63. 

3S6 



HIS NEW SUIT. 



And she sweetly spoke again, — 
Spoke more fervently than then, — 

As she nestled up to me, 
Saying, in her gentle way: 
" Ah, how brave you looked in gray ! 
But you're braver still in blue, — 
Blue's the color, dear, for you ! " 

— S. E. Kiser. 



38 7 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



€o tyi Siting JJquafcron. 

T^IERCE flock of sea gulls, with huge wings of 
white, 

Tossed on the treacherous blue, 
Poising your pinions in majestic flight, — 

Our hearts take voyage with you. 

Against the soulless, unregarding Sea 

Match the high will that dares ! 
Are ye not driven by mightier gales than she ? — 

Millions of patriot prayers ! 

Flock of the terrible talons ! — urged by lungs 

Monstrous and fury-fed ! 
Hold your proud course till rot their riotous tongues, 

Fear-born and treason-bred, 

Who at this late and ominous hour declaim 

The jargon of the past, — 
Forgetful fools, that Freedom, that great name, 

Hath riven all chains at last. 

God save us from war's terrors ! May they cease ! 

And yet one fate how worse ! 
A bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace, 

Glutting a coward's purse ! 



TO THE FLYING SQUADRON. 



Oh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and cling 

Far in the middle seas 
With those of hostile war birds, wing to wing, — 

Our hearts shall fight with these. 

God speed you ! Never fared crusading knight 

On holier quest than ye, — 
Sworn to the rescue of the trampled Right, — 

Sworn to make Cuba free ! — 

Yea, swiftly to avenge our martyred Maine. 

I watch you curve and wheel 
In horrible grace of battle, — scourge of Spain, 

Birds with the beaks of steel ! 



389 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



$0e Qjecompen0e. 

'"pHEY are marching from the Southland, from the 

North, and from the West, 
From the sunny hills of vintage, from the crags 

where eagles nest, 
From the altars of devotion, from a mother's loving 

breast, 
While above them floats Old Glory, boon to all the 

world oppressed. 

They are marching to the ocean where the crimsoned 

waters cry, 
Where the cowards jeered in anger, laughed to see 

our heroes die, 
Little dreaming that in vengeance God was watching 

from on high, 
That he heard the blood-stained billows lift their 

voices to the sky. 

There's a song comes from the forest, there's a song 

breaks from the sea, 
And the echoes ring from heaven in tumultuous 

ecstasy ; 
For the flag floats high in splendor, our old flag of 

liberty, 

39o 



THE RECOMPENSE. 



Where the mists of night are lifting, and God's 
people are made free. 

Oh, be brave, my heart, with courage, and my soul, 
be ever strong ! 

To the right or left turn never, but press fearlessly 
along ; 

For the God above hath vengeance, and shall recom- 
pense the wrong, 

Till the wrath of man shall praise him, and the 
darkness break with song ! 

— Chas, H. Dorrie. 



39i 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



T 'VE been thinkin' of it over, an' it 'pears to me 

to-day 
The war's the biggest blessin' that has ever come 

our way ; 
Course, thar'll be some fightin', an' a few more 

graves'll be 
Whar the daisies in the medder look their purtiest 

at me, — 

For that's to be expected ; but — the thing that 

makes me feel 
That the war's a heavenly blessin' is the wounds that 

it'll heal ! 
The old wounds that's been ranklin' sence the day 

that Gin'rul Lee 
Said we'd rest an' think it over by that old-time 

apple-tree ! 

I see the boys that fit us in the Union coats of blue 
On the same groun', — hale an' hearty, an' a-shakin' 

howdy-do ! 
An' I hear the ban' play " Dixie," an' I see 'em 

march away, 
Till I can't tell whar the blue is, an' I'm mixed up 

on the gray ! 

39 2 



REUNITED. 



The old war tunes air ringin', an' " Dixie's " on the 

rise ; ^ 
But " Yankee Doodle " f oilers 'fore it's half-way to 

the skies ! 
An' the old " Star Spangled Banner " is in ever' 

steeple's chime, 
An' I tell you, we're a-havin' of a hallelujah time ! 

I'm glad I've lived to see it; I'm glad the time is 

come 
When, North an' South, we answer to the roll-call of 

the drum ! 
When thar ain't no line divides us, but North an' 

South we stan' 
For jest one common country, — one freedom-lovin' 

Ian'! 

That's whar the war's a blessin', that's whar 'pears 

like I see 
A brighter mornin' breakin' on the hills for you 

an' me ! 
It's shoulder now to shoulder, — thar ain't no blue or 

gray, — 
An' we're shoutin' " Hallelujah," an' we're happy on 

the way ! 

— F. L. Stanton. 



393 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

"Cut f0e CM*." 

An Incident of Cienfuegos. 

" /^UT the cables ! " the order read, 

And the men were there ; there was no delay. 
The ships hove to in Cienfuegos Bay, — 

The Windom, Nashville, Marblehead, — 
Beautiful, grim, and alert were they, 
It was midway, past in the morning gray. 

" Cut the cables ! " the order said — 
Over the clouds of the dashing spray 
The guns were trained and ready for play ; 

Picked from the Nashville, Winslow led, — 
Grim death waits ashore, they say ; 
" Lower the boats, Godspeed, give way." 
Did " our untried navy lads " obey ? 

Away to their perilous work they sped. 

Now, steady the keel, keep stroke the oar ! 

They must go in close, they must find the wires ; 
Grim death is alert on that watching shore, 

That deadly shore of the " Hundred Fires." 
In the lighthouse tower, — along the ledge, — 

In the blockhouse, waiting, — the guns are there ; 
On the lowland, too, in the tall, dry sedge ; 

394 



"CUT THE CABLES." 



They are holding the word till the boats draw 
near. 
One hundred feet from the water's edge, 

Dazzling clear is the sunlit air ; 
Quick, my men, — the moments are dear ! 

Two hundred feet from the rifle-pit, 
And our " untried " lads still show no fear — 

When they open now they're sure to hit ; 
No question, even by sign, they ask, 
In silence they bend to their dangerous task. 

Quick now ! — the shot from a smokeless gun 

Cuts close and spatters the glistening brine ; 
Now follows the roar of the battle begun, 
But the boys were bent in the blazing sun 

Like peaceful fishermen, " wetting a line." 
They searched the sea while a shrieking blast 

Swept shoreward, swift as the lightning flies, — 
While the fan-like storm of the shells went past 

Like a death-wing cleaving the hissing skies. 
Like a sheltering wing, — for the hurricane came 

From our own good guns, and the foe might tell 
What wreck was wrought by their deadly aim ; 

For the foe went down where the hurricane fell. 
It shattered the blockhouse, levelled the tower, 

It ripped the face of the smoking hill, 
It beat the battle back, hour by hour, 

395 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



And then, for a little, our guns were still. 

For a little, but that was the fatal breath, — 
That moment's lull in the friendly crash, — 
For the long pit blazed with a vicious flash, 

And eight fell, — two of them done to death. 

Once more the screen of the screaming shot 
With its driving canopy covered the men, 
While they dragged, and grappled, and, faltering not, 

Still dragged, and searched, and grappled again. 
And they stayed right there till the work was done, 
The cables were found and severed, each one, 
With an eighty-foot gap, and the " pieee " hauled in, 
And stowed in place, — then, under the din 
Of that deafening storm, that had swept the air 
For three long hours, they turned from shore 
(" Steady the keel " there ; " stroke " the oar), 
To the smoke-wreathed ships, and, under the guns, 
They went up the side, — our " untried " ones. 

Quiet, my brave boys ; hats off, all ! 

They are here, our " untried " boys in blue. 
Steady the block, now, all hands haul ! 

Slow on the line there ! — look to that crew ! 
Six lads hurt ! — and the colors there? 

Wrap two of them ? — hold ! Ease back the bow ! 
Slow, now, on the line ! — slack down with care ! 

396 



" CUT THE CABLES." 



Steady ! — they're back on their own deck now ! 
The cables are cut, sir, eighty-foot spread, 
Six boys hurt, and — two of them dead. 

Half-mast the colors ! there's work to do ! 
There are two red marks on the starboard gun, 
There is still some work that is not quite done, 

For our " untried " boys that are tried and true. 
It wasn't all play when they cut the wires, — 
Well named is that bay of the " Hundred Fires." 
— Robert Burns Wilson. 

June 2, i8g8. 



397 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



(gtene, (gftene, $eftef, (Upifamn/ 



"DEHOLD, we have gathered together our battle- 
ships, near and afar; 

Their decks they are cleared for action, their guns 
they are primed for war. 

From the East to the West there is hurry ; in the 
North and the South a peal 

Of hammers in fort and shipyard, and the clamor 
and clang of steel; 

And the rush and roar of engines, and clanking of 
derrick and crane, — 

Thou art weighed in the scales and found wanting, 
the balance of God, O Spain! 

Behold, I have stood on the mountains, and this was 
writ in the sky : 

" She is weighed in the scales and found wanting, the 
balance God holds on high ! " 

The balance he once weighed Babylon, the Mother of 
Harlots, in. 

One scale holds thy pride and power and empire, be- 
gotten of sin, 

Heavy with woe and torture, the crimes of a thou- 
sand years, 

398 



"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 

Mortared and welded together with fire and blood 

and tears ; 
In the other, for justice and mercy, a blade with 

never a stain, 
Is laid the Sword of Liberty, and the balance dips, 

O Spain ! 

Summon thy vessels together ! great is thy need for 

these ! 
Cristobal Colon, Vizcaya, Oquendo, and Marie The- 

rese. 
Let them be strong and many, for a vision I had by 

night, 
That the ancient wrongs thou hast done the world 

came howling to the fight; 
From the New World shores they gathered. Inca and 

Aztec, slain, 
To the Cuban shot but yesterday, and our own dead 

seamen, Spain! 

Summon thy ships together, gather a mighty fleet ! 

For a strong young nation is arming that never hath 
known defeat. 

Summon thy ships together, there on thy blood- 
stained sands ! 

For a shadowy army gathers with manacled feet and 
hands, 

399 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



A shadowy host of sorrows and of shames, too black 

to tell, 
That reach with their horrible wounds for thee to 

drag thee down to hell; 
Myriad phantoms and spectres, thou warrest against 

in vain ! 
Thou art weighed in the scales and found wanting, 

the balance of God, O Spain ! 

— Madison Cawein. 



FALL INI 



Sftff 3n! 

"TMS no time for vain surmising; 

1 Fall in ! 

While the din of war is rising ; 

Fall in ! 
See the cloud of conflict falling, 
Though the danger is appalling ; 
Hark! your country's voice is calling: 

Fall in ! 

Past, the time for speculation ; 

Fall in ! 
Peril menaces the nation ; 

Fall in ! 
Leave to cravens idle prattle ; 
Empty vessels loudest rattle ! 
Trusting in the God of battle ; 

Fall in ! 

Waste no precious time in trifles ; 

Fall in ! 
Drop all else and grasp your rifles ; 

Fall in ! 
Lay your lives on country's altar, 
Cursed the craven who would falter, 
For the traitor's neck the halter ! 

Fall in ! 

401 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Son and sire and grandsire hoary, 

Fall in ! 
Insult stains our grand " Old Glory ! " 

Fall in ! 
By our tars 'neath ocean sleeping, 
Billowy mounds above them heaping, 
By the tears their loved are weeping, 

Fall in ! 

Spirit of the Revolution ! 

Fall in ! 
Reinforce our resolution ; 

Fall in ! 
North and South now reunited, 
Union's covenant replighted, 
Fire on Freedom's shrine relighted ! 

Fall in ! 

— Frank N. Scott. 



402 



THE OLD ARTILLERIST. 



£0e <£>fb #rfi«ertef. 

T_J E never has talked of the war-time and battle, 

He gives himself wholly to peace and its ways 
And he loves his small fields and his horses and 
cattle, 
And the smell of the corn fields through long sum- 
mer days. 
It seems like a dream in his calm daily labors, 

That once he fought fiercely where swift bullets 
smote, 
But always on Sundays at church with his neighbors 
A little bronze button is worn on his coat. 

The sixties had found him where bugles rang charges, 

Where over the batteries the cavalry rode, 
And the smoke of the guns hung along the field's 
marges 

As hotly the battle's tide eddying flowed. 
His boy's heart had thrilled at the reverberation, 

As, plying the sponge or the lanyard, he toiled ; 
His smoke-stifled throat throbbed with fierce exultation 

The while he stood by till the piece had recoiled. 

But now ! — not a word of the war-time and battle, 
No tales of the conflict the veteran will tell ; 

403 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



He's at peace in his fields with his horses and cattle, 

Who once had been rained on by bullet and shell. 

But he chuckles, these days, as he plods at his labors, 

Because his two boys have enlisted, and he 
Walks straighter and prouder when passing the 
neighbors, 
For Bill is with Dewey and Jim is with Lee ! 

— Meredith Nicholson. 



GREETING FROM ENGLAND. 



(greeting from (gngfcmb, 

A MERICA ! dear brother land ! 

While yet the shotted guns are mute, 
Accept a brotherly salute, 
A hearty grip of England's hand. 

To-morrow, when the sulphurous glow 
Of war shall dim the stars above, 
Be sure the star of England's love 

Is over you, come weal or woe. 

Go forth in hope ! Go forth in might ! 
To all your nobler self be true, 
That coming times may see in you 

The vanguard of the hosts of light. 

Though wrathful justice load and train 
Your guns, be every breach they make 
A gateway pierced for mercy's sake 

That peace may enter in and reign. 

Then, should the hosts of darkness band 
Against you, lowering thunderously, 
Flash the word " Brother " o'er the sea, 

And England at your side shall stand, 

405 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 

Exulting ! For, though dark the night 
And sinister with scud and rack, 
The hour that brings us back to back 

But harbingers the larger light. 

April 22., i8g8. — London Chronicle. 



406 



HOBSON AND HIS MEN. 



igofison &nb %\% (Jtten. 

f~\ N the girdling circuit, 

Under sundered seas, 
Over dale and mountain, 

Caught by ev'ry breeze, 
Glory sends a message 

(Cipherless her pen) 
That the world is cheering 

Hobson and his men ! 



Eight against the fleet and forts, 
A brook against a sea ! 

But Santiago's door is shut 
And Hobson turned the key ! 

Moon behind a cloud-bank, 

Fickle Cuban sky, 
Hobson and his seven tars 

Steaming boldly by ! 
Phillips, Murphy, Deignan, 

Clausen and Charette, 
Montagu and Kelly, 

Not a man forget ! — Cho. 

407 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



Right athwart the channel, — 

Hobson's heart the guide, — 
Swung the bulky collier 

Hinged upon the tide. 
Growled the guns of Spaniards, 

Growled from either shore ; 
But, his sea legs keeping, 

Hobson hung his door ! — Cho. 

Soon shall legions thunder, 

Cannoned mountains rock, 
And that door swing open 

Wide at Freedom's knock ! 
High at Santiago 

Rear a column then, 
Bidding Time remember 

Hobson and his men ! — Cho. 

— Edward F. Burns. 



408 



PRAYER FOR THE NATION. 



(JptaEet for *0e (ttafton. 

JUDGE of the earth, to whom 
The secret things are known, 
Lo, in this hour of gloom, 

We come before thy throne. 
The knees of Freedom's sons are bent 

To none, O Lord, but thee ; 
Before thy altar we present 
Our motive and our plea. 

Thou knowest all the cause, — 

The crime and insult both, — 
Long have we taken pause, 

And even now are loth 
To strike the blow, — yet Honor calls, 

Her summons we obey ; 
Fit mate were he for knaves and thralls 

Who yet would urge delay. 

Not for ourselves we try 

The final test of war, — 
A tortured people cry 

For succor from afar ; 
Before the bar of Liberty 

Stands Tyranny arraigned : 

409 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



The cup she mixed of misery- 
Shall by herself be drained. 



If with a hand unclean 

We wrongly draw the sword, 
We pray thee intervene 

To make our cause abhorred. 
We would not dim a history 

In honor clear begun. 
We crave, O Lord, no victory 

That is not justly won. 

Let other nations sneer ; 

Accountable alone 
To thee, O Lord, we fear 

No censure save thine own. 
The Powers of earth are in thy sight 

A pageant and a dream ; 
Thou ever art of Truth and Right 

The arbiter supreme. 

The trumpet calls us forth ; 

The fateful guns are trained ; 
Oh, may we prove our worth, 

Our honor keep unstained ! 

410 



PRAYER FOR THE NATION. 

We lift the gage ; the issue stands 

For innocence or guilt ; 
Our cause we place within thy hands, — 

Deal with us as thou wilt. 

— Boston Transcript. 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



£0e §aitiw of *0e ffeef. 

npWO fleets have sailed from Spain. The one 
would seek 

What lands uncharted ocean might conceal. 
Despised, condemned, and pitifully weak, 

It found a world for Leon and Castile. 

The other, mighty, arrogant, and vain, 
Sought to subdue a people who were free. 
Ask of the storm-gods where its galleons be, — 

Whelmed 'neath the billows of the northern main ! 

A third is threatened. On the westward track, 
Once gloriously traced, its vessels speed, 

With gold and crimson battle-flags unfurled. 
On Colon's course, but to Sidonia's wrack, 
Sure fated, if so need shall come to need, 

For sons of Drake are lords of Colon's world. 
— The New York Tribune. 



412 



EIGHT VOLUNTEERS. 



T^IGHT volunteers! on an errand of death ! 

Eight men ! Who speaks ? 
Eight men to go where the cannon's hot breath 

Burns black the cheeks. 
Eight men to man the old Merrimac's hulk ; 
Eight men to sink the old steamer's black bulk, 
Blockade the channel where Spanish ships skulk, - 

Eight men ! Who speaks ? 

" Eight volunteers ! " said the Admiral's flags ! 

Eight men ! Who speaks ? 
Who will sail under El Morro's black crags ? — 

Sure death he seeks. 
Who is there willing to offer his life ? 
Willing to march to this music of strife, — 
Cannon for drum and torpedo for fife ? 

Eight men ! Who speaks ? 

Eight volunteers ! on an errand of death ! 

Eight men ! Who speaks ? 
Was there a man who in fear held his breath ? 

With fear-paled cheeks ? 

4i3 



POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 



From ev'ry war-ship ascended a cheer ! 
From ev'ry sailor's lips burst the word " Here ! " 
Four thousand heroes their lives volunteer ! 
Eight men ! Who speaks ? 

— Lansing C. Bailey. 



FLING OUT THE FLAG. 

BY THOMAS NIELD. 
Fling out the flag in freedom's name and let it flutter 

free, 
A terror to the tyrant dons who came across the sea— 
The European centipedes that poison where they tread, 
And leave in every land they touch a ghastly heap of 

dead. 
Remember iTorquemada's rack and Alva's houndish 

crew. 
How Cortex harried Mexico, Pizarro cursed Peru, 
An i Weyler wrote on Cuban soil the Spaniard's bloody 

name; 
Then float, flag, in triumph o'er the graveyard of their 



Fling out the flag ia victory's name, which brightens all 
its stars, 

And gives a rainbow splendor to the rose hue of its bars . 

Wide let it flap o'er sunken ship* and battle battered 
walls. 

Until the last hope of the dons before its presence falls. 

Remind them of Manila and of Santiago's fate; 

As hints of retribution that may yet their crimes await; 

Aye, make them tremble as they hear our nearing can- 
nons roar, 



Fling out the flag ia glory's name, but let that glory be 
To drive the tyrant to his den and set his victims free; 
Then let the eagle roar and scream o'er freedom's lofty 

crags, 
While in the valley's dust we drag the foe's dishonored 

rags. 
Convince the sordid nations that we have both will and 

power 
To act the good Samaritan in dark oppression's hour. 
Display the true ideal of the duty of the strong 
To save a weaker neighbor from the talons of the wrong. 

Fling out tue flag in heaven's high name, that heaven 

may bless anew 
That sacred jmblein of the right with blessings like the 

dew; 
And while it flutters let us trust in Him to guard our 

land 
Who holds the fate of nations in the hollow of his hand . 
Remember him in sunshine who remembered us in shade, 
For in the present triumph is the former power displayed; 
And in the march of progress let us ever keep the van, 
And lead the nations on to own the brotherhood of man. 



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